


Gone Before It Happens

by badluckvixen13 (alteringviews)



Series: 1 Million for Black Hermione [36]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Black Hermione Granger, Government Conspiracy, Multi, Sequel, Spies & Secret Agents, Wizarding Politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2018-11-30 15:36:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11466516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alteringviews/pseuds/badluckvixen13
Summary: A Sequel to Marbled Rose and the Brightest Witch Of Her Age Series as promised!With Voldemort now more of a horror story than reality, Hermione has decided that being a librarian simply wasn't good enough. She needed the edge and the adrenaline, the security of knowing, but how far is she willing to go for her insatiable curiosity and the fate of all wizarding kind?





	1. Selling Out

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read the rest of the Gone Before It Happens Series, it won't matter. There are some references that may be clearer if you did, but you won't be lost in the story...
> 
> At least I hope you won't. :)

_ It smells like ash-- fresh ash as if the trees had not even cooled yet. That and freshly fallen snow tinged with sweat.  His sense of smell shouldn’t have been this good, but he knows now, after years of having these dreams, that the little fragments of understanding that he has comes from his current knowledge, not the knowledge he had then.  _

_ He had been an infant at the time. The world was dark around him through the trees. It shifted, flying past him streaked through with terrible twists of green light and screaming. Screaming, maybe his own as well, he wasn't sure of anything, but the warmth around him and blurry oval framed with shadow and two points of warm, glowing emerald and sand above him.  _

_ A part of him understand that those are his eyes., his and they were very nice.  _

_ The current part of him knows that the owner of those eyes is at the very least a relative. His mother, maybe from the warm feeling in him and the softness that cradled him. Whoever she was, she was carrying him through the night and she loved him. She would do anything to make sure he survived.  _

**_Don't  leave me,_ ** _ he pleaded with the glowing orbs.  _

_ Green and gold light flashed, the thunder rolled and heard the sound of an explosion nearby. _

_ "Adlai!" _

_ The world shifted again and he could see another  blurry figure with glowing gold eyes framed by shadow. _

**_Adlai,_** _he thought, rolling the word over in his mind. It’s warm and cozy, protective, close--_

_ Father. _

_ There’s the babbling of a baby over the quiet. His own, he imagined since the two sets of glowing orbs turn towards him and then back to each other. Their eyes are fierce, glinting, molten like dragon fire and sunlight. _

_ "Quickly, go!” _

_ "We can't go without you!" _

_ "Go! Es' now!" _

_ He had never heard that name before and in his mind he felt a resonance of power and safety with it. Sliding around him like a warm blanket., like her arms. _

**_Adlai and Es’._ **

**_His parents!_ **

_ Something was telling him to run, to tell them to get out, to hide, but only the sound of a frightened baby could be heard.  _

_ “Shh, Cyrus, I know...I know…” _

_ Green light rushed towards them, back and forth and everything was suffused with a brightness-- _

Cyrus opened his eyes. The sun had not begun to rise yet, the sky was as dark as the night he'd dreamt. 

“Adlai and Es’,” he said softly, rolling the words around in his mouth. 

_ Es’ could be short for anything, _ he thought with a sigh.  _ Esmerelda, Esme, Esther, Esteri, Estera, Esta… _

**_Esfir…_ **

He flinched at the name that seemed to come from somewhere beyond him. It had been happening more often now that he was alone and had a good handle on his life. 

_ Esfir, _ he thought. It felt warm, like a star in his hands, burning bright and warming every cell in him. 

_ Perhaps her name was Esfir, _ he thought worrying his lip before snorting. His instincts were good, but they probably weren’t  _ that _ good. He shook his head and rolled off his small bed towards the window to look out across the city of London. The sky was without the breaking of starlight, the streets seemed dark and fogged over with the breath of despair though the Muggles were surely awake somewhere doing whatever it is that muggles did in the early hours of the morning. He knew from experience that it wasn't much: sleeping, eating, jogging, maybe rocking a fussy infant back to sleep. 

Cyrus glanced at the the clock on his bedside table:  **3:52 a.m.** He definitely wasn't going back to sleep tonight, so he wouldn't even try. Instead, he headed towards the kitchen to rustle up something to eat and check the mail. Nimue was settled on her perch, fluttering her wings as he entered the room and he chuckled. A great black feathered owl, rare and sweet to any she'd met so long as they were sweet to her. Her temper was laced with hellfire and he had a feeling that she wasn't just a normal owl if the changes in her eye color were any indicator. He remembered the way she'd nearly pecked the ministry official's eyes out when they'd taken her from him. She was beautiful, the same jet black as his hair, a rarity in wizarding owls.

He still remembered the day they’d met. The way she’d flown from seemingly nowhere onto his shoulder as they walked through the Diagon Alley. He and Severus Snape had been making their way through the crowd when she’d found him and landed on his shoulder. Severus had told him that the bird knew him and would keep watch over him. He wondered sometimes how, if maybe she knew his parents. Unfortunately, communicating with owls was not on his impressive dossier.

"Guess I woke you up," he said, petting her as he passed. "Sorry about that." 

She hooted at him as he went to the refrigerator and glided to perch on top of it and hooted again.

"What is it--"

A knock sounded on his front door. Cyrus stood up straight, licking his lips as Nimue hooted again and he closed the refrigerator. He opened his left hand, summoned his wand and crept towards the door, rolling his right hand for an invisible shield before peaking through the peephole to see who it was. Three people, all in black robes bearing the Ministry of Magic's seal. Though he was alert, his other instincts didn’t seem bothered by their presence on the other side of his door. He took a breath and spoke through the door. It was too damn early for this even if he wouldn't be getting anymore sleep tonight.

"What do you want? You know what time it is?"

"Of course,” she said. “We are also well aware that you are awake."

He smirked, cloaked his wand and opened the door. 

The three of them hadn’t changed in the slightest. All English skin tones, heights, and features. All three of them smiling at him, familiar and almost comforting. He’d almost forgotten what it was to have friends outside of Viktor. 

"Still as snarky as ever."

"Your hair's gotten longer!" Pease squealed reaching up to feel the strands that probably framed his face in their inky waves. “It's still so silky!"

Cyrus laughed and hugged her tightly. They grinned and stepped forward as he allowed them passage into his small flat. Owen, Pease, and Trenton were there to see him it couldn't have been good and he didn't think he was going to like what they had to say either, but he hugged them all the same. It had been nearly a full year since he'd last seen them, that hazy night in St. Mungo’s in which he'd nearly murdered a healer in his madness. Thank Merlin and the everlasting that Viktor had been there to stop him. He had more than enough blood on his hands that he didn’t need to add theirs too.

"Can I offer you a drink?"

Pease snorted, "You don't drink, Cyrus."

He grinned and pulled out a bottle of muggle vodka, "I've changed."

She gawked at the half-filled bottle and he laughed, "A friend gave it to me for my birthday and promptly drunk most of it."

Trenton grinned, "Sneaky bastard."

As they settled around his small table and he rummaged through his fridge to find something to eat they shared a look. He raised his hand over his shoulder, "You're doing the thing that you think I don't know about. What are you all here for?"

"The International Ministry Union sent us to tell you about your case," Pease started and Cyrus hummed pulling out the makings of a huge sandwich on a 20 inch loaf of bread that he cut in half to open and start layering with meats and cheeses. "Minister Darthmouth figured that we would be the best to deliver the message."

“Still alive that one? Would have thought a Shacklebolt supporter would have offed him by now.”

“Cyrus!”

He smirked at the fact that no one offered up any real resistance to the idea. At least they hadn’t sold their souls. 

No one really understood what had happened in the election following the end of the Second Wizarding War. By all accounts, Kingsley should have been a shoe-in for it, but one Reever Darthmouth appeared, out of nowhere, and took hold of the position on a platform that sounded nice but wasn’t substantial enough for a butterfly to land on. 

The new British Minister of Magic spouted words about a new age of peace won and no need of a man of war such as Kingsley at the head of the exodus out of the dark. They had a lot of restructuring and such to do, a lot of clean-up, and really Kingsley hadn’t had much of a chance considering the madness of the Auror Corp trying to catch the remaining Death Eaters. After the elections were over, the Ministry went full-tilt into restrucutring leaving certain departments up-ended, turned around and information ran free and unhindered through the Ministry.

Cyrus shook his head, remembering all the wild-goose chases his department had narrowly avoided and the one that they hadn’t. It had been the mission that caused a pause in the madness of the Ministry and gave Darthmouth a more substantial misdirection than the missing and escaped Death Eaters. Twelve people dead and one convicted to Azkaban for the rest of his life for mass murder and violation of wizarding law. It had been an international case considering the people that had been killed had not all been British and the convict himself was not British.

“This the part where he makes an appointment to kiss my ass?” Cyrus asked.

Pease winced watching the tension in his shoulders. The new minister had made Cyrus the scape-goat, condemned more magical creatures in an effort to distract from the pardoned Death Eaters. They’d taken his wand and shut him away in the twisted despair and cold of Azkaban. Thanks to Merlin and contacts Cyrus didn’t realize he had, Cyrus had been released six months later for a wonderful three month stint into his subconscious at St. Mungo’s. Kingsley finally got the go-ahead to cleanse Azkaban of Dementors and the wizarding world forgot how quickly they’d jumped on Darthmouth’s anti-magical creature bandwagon when it came to light that wizards had been responsible for those deaths and Cyrus had nearly lost his life too. 

Now, almost a year later, his record was clean, paper-official but no one would hire him after finding out that he was a magical creature.  Goblin banks were a no, book shops, libraries, etc… His last application with a dragon reserve was still pending. If it weren’t for his own savings, and Viktor’s open-door policy, he might have had something to worry about. 

As it stood, bars really liked to hire him to sling drinks and bring in flirting, half-drunk customers who loved to throw themselves at him. He had a magnetism that couldn’t be denied. 

_ Maybe I’m part Veela,  _ he snorted at the thought. 

“He thought it best that we deliver the news since you know us so well.”

"The least likely to get laughed at, or hexed, you mean," he said. "What do they want?"

"He wants to apologize and offer your job back."

Cyrus laughed then, his head thrown back. It was absolutely ludicrous considering the events that lead up to his incarceration, the reason he was let go, and currently still collecting hush money from the Minister. He didn’t use it, but he liked to collect it and donate it to any groups attempting to lobby for magical creature rights around the world.

Trenton started up, "We know you haven't found another job, muggle or magical since your recovery."

"Your intel sucks then,” Cyrus said. “I work.”

Pease rolled her eyes, “That’s not stable.”

Cyrus shrugged,“ That still doesn’t mean I haven't applied."

"We also know that you don't like to be bored.Dragon taming won't hold you over for long and bartending surely hasn’t even if your ego is getting stroked on a regular basis.”

Cyrus nodded beginning a layer of spinach and tomatoes on top of the cheese, then bell peppers, and red onions. 

"That's true. However, my department doesn't exist anymore per the  _ new age _ talks...unless this is a warning of assassination."

Pease winced. Cyrus, while out of practice (maybe), was still a better duelist, a stronger wizard, and a hell of a lot more ruthless than all three of them combined. The aftermath of his stay in Azkaban seemed to only make that ruthless streak wider. She wasn’t willing to find out how wide it really was.

"He wants you to occupy it, he's willing to give you all the power of your former boss. Let you restart the program under supervision if course."

"My department is dead," he said, pouring olive oil and sweet onion sauce over the leaves, shaking pepper on it. "And that's what the Aurors are for anyway, aren't they?"

More easily controlled because their names appeared in the papers. Easier to get rid of as the level of training and the level of secrets they kept wasn't nearly as high as the ones rattling around in Cyrus’s head along with the ghosts. It was part of the reason that they had them all killed in the first place, to tie up the loose ends of the dirty deeds the Ministries of the world had needed done. Other than his strange immunity to fire, the only reason that Cyrus was really alive was because the Iranian Department of Magical Creatures had been forced to overwrite his species’ status from Cryptid to In-Extreme Danger and place him under their protection. Britain had no desire to go to war with Iran as they were known to have some pretty damaging curses, even if the Ministry was back to its full strength. Trying to kill him simply wasn’t worth the risk.

"Not like this," Pease said. "They think someone else, as bad as Voldemort, could be coming...maybe worse. A new Dark Lord if you will."

"That's what you all are for."

Owen huffed and stood, "Stop brooding for five minutes and listen to what we're telling you!"

Cyrus turned to face them, his eyes, molten golden and flickering with the fire of his ancestry, focused on Owen's eyes. All the emerald was gone now and the pupils seemed to be elongating as he glared at Owen. It made Owen’s blood run cold. A bit of the texts they’d been able to read about Cyrus’s kind flickered through his mind. 

_ Beware: gold and slits before fire. Color and circles before kindness. _

"Brooding?"

Owen's jaw tensed and he looked away from Cyrus before sitting down slowly, "Sorry."

Cyrus didn't say anything, but turned back to his sandwich making, closing the top and cutting the finished masterpiece in half, he took half of it and began to eat before crossing the kitchen to retrieve a can of soda and joining them at the table, an arm's reach away from the rest of his sandwich. They sat in silence for a little while, Cyrus's sandwich being devoured and the flutter of Nimue's wings were the only sounds. Pease glanced towards the owl, knowing exactly how protective she was of Cyrus and would not hesitate to peck Owen’s eyes out.

"Cyrus," Trenton began again. "It's worse than you think."

"Enlighten me," he said taking a swig of his drink. "I haven't seen how it is yet and what it has to do with me."

Never mind the fact that they all wouldn't remember this conversation, nor where Cyrus lived thanks to the charm on his doorframe. Pease looked at the other two and then took a breath before beginning the story. By the time she was done, he was wearing a dark smile that chilled them all. He leaned to one side, resting his head in his hand.

"Well... that is interesting."

"Will you come back?"

Cyrus laughed, "My life in my hands or in the ground? Iranian-British magical war...hm, how could I make a decision like that?"

Trenton winced, "You see why we were sent then?"

"If they think all of that is true, they must not like any of you. Maybe they expected me to burn you all to ash, maybe sent you here to kill me if I didn’t comply."

Pease laughed nervously and Owen glowered, "Please tell me you're kidding."

Cyrus flexed his hand so his wand appeared in his hand again and they swallowed, their eyes looking at the wand. They'd never seen it before, but felt their blood run cold when they did. It was black and smooth, printed and burned with blood red runes that none of them could read. The court records were correct, it wasn’t like any wand they’d ever seen before. Cyrus contemplated the runes, watching them glow blood red as his fingers traced over them and hearing that unintelligible whisper in the back of his mind as he did so. They watched his eyes glow and the black marks appear along his neck, his hair fluttering in some unknown wind before his eyes unnervingly bright eyes looked back to them.

"This thing?" he whispered. "Really?"

Pease nodded, "They're putting together a team of new people for you to train."

“Train?” He snorted, "To watch me."

"Well, sort of."

Cyrus sighed, "I'm not seeing what's in it for me."

"The records on your parents."

Cyrus's eyes jumped to Owen, his eyes narrowed, “What?”

"Your entire family."

Cyrus swallowed, "My parents?'

Trenton nodded, "The Minister is prepared to let you see your grandfather--"

_ Grandfather?  _

He had living relatives? He felt an almost uncanny twist of joy in his chest. He’d read every book on magical beasts he could get his hands on in the hospital thanks to Viktor and everyone else in an attempt to find out what a “Draconus Mortis” was only to find out that there were a million theories and no sure answers because they were all assumed pretty much extinct or myth.  The Ministries of the times, coalitions of wizards who established the hierarchy before the actual Ministries were formed, had supposedly waged a war on them during the Wand Wars over the disappearance of dragons all over the world. From what he could tell, they just disappeared one day, taking most dragons with them, sealing themselves away perhaps to just die out. The dragons of today were the few born after the closing of the wall, lost or stolen away in the confusion. In short, they were descendants bred for parts. From his research, there were times in history that the dragon population, as accounted for by wizards, dipped dangerously low, threatening the continued creation of dragon core wands. 

It had been enough to tell him that there was  _ someone _ still out there besides himself, but he’d never dreamed that they would actually be relatives. 

Cyrus growled, "After all this, he has no right to keep such information from me."

"The territory he lives in is highly regulated by the International Ministries as it is outside of Iran’s jurisdiction. He is willing, if you accept the job, to have an envoy take you there and grant you freedom of access."

Cyrus felt his inside twist, the pit of his stomach grew hot and angry. The image of the minister's throat between his hands as he squeezed and squeezed made a lovely picture. His pale face flushed, his lips trembled sputtering cowardly words, his eyes rolled back and Cyrus felt the blood clotting below his hand and the heart stopping, slow, slow, slow.

_ Please… _ he’d gasped in that weak little voice, backed by only the blood of others. 

Cyrus would only laugh and ask him,  _ How many Dementors fly past the cells of Azkaban in one minute? _

He’d watch the man’s eyes go wide with terror, his lips tremble, and his cheeks flushed with the lack of air as Cyrus slowly constricted his trachea and waited for his last breath to pass into the air and him into nothing. 

_ Please… _

He wondered if the Minister listened to his  _ pleas _ for justice, if he heard them at all. If he’d cared while looking into Cyrus’s not quite human eyes.

It had been so dark, so very dark and cold. Thousands of knives tearing at him, invisible quick things, draining every thing worthy of joy out of him, the darkness swirling around the figures of concentrated despair, moving in steady waves around him. Attracted to him, feasting on him in an endless feast for a death that would not come the first month, nor the next, nor the next…Not even when he felt the bottom of his soul dripping out of the millions of cuts they’d made in his psyche, letting his magic bleed out as they feasted. So very hungry for guards of such a large stock of prepackaged meals.

He remembered the light of a patronus, an auror there to get him up, to get him out of Azkaban and he remembered waking up in St. Mungo’s months later--furious and so very out of touch with reality that he’d nearly killed the healers who were attempting to help him. He’d gotten most of them with waves of fire before Viktor had arrived and sent them away, calming him down with gentle hands, his scents, his presence, and his voice. Viktor must have learned how to feed off of people’s psionic energies because he remembered feeling the panic, the rage, and the terror fading away the longer Viktor spoke to him. At the time, he hadn’t understood a word Viktor said, soothed by his scent and the sound of his voice washing over him.  He remembered feeling nothing about the injuries he’d caused as Viktor held him close and soothed him. 

“ _ Kyros… _ ” he remembered saying. “ _ Kurush… _ ”

Viktor had known enough to know that Cyrus was saying his own name after hearing fall from Viktor’s lips.

“ _ That’s right,. You’re Cyrus. Do you know who I am? _ ”

“ _ Arammu… _ ” he’d said and Cyrus almost groaned thinking about it. 

_ Love, _ he’d called Viktor his love and thanked the gods and Merlin that no one in the wizarding world knew what the hell he was saying at the time, just that he was communicating something. Whatever Viktor had sensed from him hadn’t raised any suspicion, so again, he’d managed not to embarrass himself out of sheer luck. 

He still felt nothing. That little blip of happiness had vanished replaced with the voice that whispered some ancient language in his head and shielded his thoughts. 

The healer who handled his release said that it was because of his not so human side. They'd done more than just suck the happiness out of him, but every drop of human emotion, his very humanity it would seem in order to get at his soul. The human magic had gone tearing out of him leaving something else. They didn't know if he'd recover, if his humanity would ever return, if he would even be able to return to doing wizarding magic, if he would ever feel the way he used to or feel anything at all but the darkness churning at the back of his mind. 

They didn't know anything really and it had only pissed Cyrus of more as they gave him his wand back and declared that after some testing, they'd ruled that his focusing tool did not classify as a wand making his supposed violation of the wand ban void. It wasn't made of wood as far as they could tell, nor did it have a magical core. He thought it ironic since he was apparently, literally, more beast than being now. Why would a beast butcher one of its own to make a magic stick?

Whether he was actually a half-blood being, a beast, or something else had been irrelevant. Instead, they called it an artifact that could not be kept from him for as soon as he was released from St.Mungo’s, it had come to his hand and returned with unerring loyalty until they'd merely given up.

"I'll take it," he said with a grin, twirling his  _ wand _ on his fingers. "It'll be fun."

They traded glances and then looked back at him. It isn’t that he agreed, but the almost sinister twist to his smile that made it a little chilling. After all, magical creatures weren’t known to exactly be  _ forgiving _ towards wizards with the exception of House Elves.

Cyrus smiled at them, knowing what they were thinking. It should hurt, considering how close they'd been, but everything had changed when people found out that he wasn't human. They thanked him, gave him a letter of summons, and left quickly as he finished eating in peace.

_ Tap Tap. _ He turn seeing a great black owl tapping on his window and grinned. Perhaps not everything had changed. There’s still a rushing feeling seeing Ivan’s massive form in his window. 

He opened it and watched him join Nimue on their perches, side by side and hooting amiably. Perhaps he should send her to Viktor to spend sometime with him, knowing that she was probably missing the hunting and warmth of Bulgaria along with Ivan’s familiar presence.

Perhaps he should go with her, knowing how much the older man worried about him since he’d left Viktor’s house in Bulgaria. It wasn’t as if Viktor was hard to live with, on the contrary the man was the easiest companion in the world to have personally, but with his human side on the fritz, his more  _ animalistic _ instincts had risen up and proved that not only was he attracted to Viktor, but he wouldn’t hesitate to pounce on the man if given the chance. Between the constant need to try and seduce Viktor, there had been the manner of his nightmares, the sparks of flames that came and went with his screaming. He couldn’t sleep for the three weeks he was there, recuperating after St. Mungo’s and then packed his bag and went back to his flat in London once all of his things were restored. Viktor had bit his lip and swallowed his protest before hugging him tightly and telling him that when he was ready, he was welcome to come back. 

_ “I’ll hold the idiots off _ ,” he’d said with a misty smile and Cyrus nodded.

Now they were just trading letters by Nimue and Ivan. He left the window open in case they wanted to go out together and sat at his table to read the letter from Viktor. There had been so few allies in those days he tried not to think about. Viktor had served as a character witness for him, had fought every step of the way, offered to hide him until they came to their senses. Then there was Hermione, a girl he’d never even met, who’d staked her reputation and done so much work to get him free because he was Viktor’s comrade. He still hadn’t met the woman, but part of him felt sick with jealousy, sick with something for sure and it had taken everything in him to leave Viktor’s house rather than let it take over his good sense. 

He knew Hermione through Viktor’s letters, the shift in his demeanor through the war and over the years, knew what she meant to Viktor. He wouldn’t be the asshole his  _ beast _ wanted him to be. 

Viktor had always been the kind of comrade that men gave their lives for, having him there nearly every day with Petya, Aleksandr, and Antonio had perhaps been the only reason why he could stay more beast than being rather than all beast. Sure, every once in awhile he just wanted to lay down in a bed of flames, or char his meat by hand--but those little oddities were nothing compared to the way it felt to be hugged by his comrades, by Viktor. 

He groaned, scrubbing his face and trying to focus around the warm feeling in his chest. He didn’t have time to think about Viktor that way, he had too--

“Well, hell…” He smirked at the picture that had come with the letter. 

Viktor, holding a tiny newborn wrapped in a blanket, sleeping in Viktor’s arms as he smiled, his attention on the baby in his arms, his brothers seemed to not want to be near them. He looked up towards the camera with a grin. He was wearing a slim cut, dark suit that made Cyrus’s mouth water. He looked good. Then again, Viktor always looked good, at least to him and Cyrus had seen him in various states of undress and preparedness.

Viktor had a baby brother.

_ Finally,  _ he was pretty sure when Viktor wasn’t praying to make it to the next day, or that his fans would leave him alone, he prayed to Merlin for a baby brother to dote on the way he’d longed to be doted on by his older brothers.

“May the Gods help you,” Cyrus said wryly turning over the photo. 

Nayden Krum was the baby’s name and Cyrus only groaned. Thank the  _ gods _ that it was a boy because had Viktor had a little sister, he could only imagine how difficult her life would have been. He prayed that none of Viktor’s brothers ever had children either. There should be a limit to the amount of cuteness a grown, professional Quidditch Player should be allowed to emit--especially when his old roommate didn’t have enough control over his beast side to be around him.

He smiled reading the letter, he couldn’t remember the last time that Viktor seemed so very ecstatic, talking about the little bundle in his arms. He was intensely proud that Nayden had thrown up on his eldest brother already. Cyrus laughed and swallowed thickly. 

_ Come visit, I’m sure he’d love you and I’d like to have a picture with all of my actual brothers for a change. _

Cyrus let out a breath and slid the letter away from him, his eyes burning. 

_ Brother, comrade… _ it made his chest hurt to think it. He wanted more, so much more that it burned him, but the fact that Viktor’s feeling about him hadn’t changed after everything he’d done, everything he is made him pick up the quill and man the hell up. 

_ Dear Viktor,  _

_ How’s this weekend? _


	2. The Umbra

Hermione took a deep breath and filed into the entrance, felt the rush of floo powder and walked to the nearest lift. There were seven other people on the lift, some of them had masks over their faces and heads, some of them didn't.  Those that did seemed shocked looking at her as she entered the lift and reached up to hold on as it rattled around the ministry. The unmasked people got off on their expected floors and then the elevator moved to a level of the ministry she knew nothing about, yet felt familiar, like it was where she was supposed to be.

She stepped out onto the floor where a group of people, all masked and silent waited. They were of various sizes, all in wizarding robes or regular clothing. Some were clearly foreign, based on the style of their clothing and coloring. They said nothing and looked around curious. There were no clocks in the room but as more people filed in from the lone elevator that took them to this level, she knew some time had passed. She'd been early, yet on time as she hadn't been given a time at all. The sound of an owl echoed through the hall drawing their attention as it glided through the air above them, making a wide circle with its  large wings and drew their attention to the figure near the back of the room. Shadowed out, mask over his face and head just like them.

“Welcome,” they heard from every and nowhere at once. “You are here because you have performed extraordinarily on the Auror Exams and sometime in between the written and practical, you showed the potential to take on the mission of this sector of the Ministry.”

Hermione swallowed, still trying to figure out where the voice was coming from, even as her head told her that it was coming from within her own head as it had no distinguishing characteristics nor inflection. She wouldn’t be able to pick it out of crowd or recording… 

_ A charm,  _ she thought. The voice was generated, or at least altered, by a charm.

“While you are in training, you will be under a constant charm that will veil you to one another, leaving only your speech patterns, your mannerisms and your codename as means of identification. The spell is only active when you are in the building and only effective on other parties who are present. Should you manage to get through training, the spell will come off and you will know each other better than you ever have before. Beyond your names of course.”

Hermione swallowed as the figure moved towards the open arc that appeared at the other end of the room. 

“This is what we call an arc, it was developed by a former constituent of the Umbra. Part of your training will be to know how it is activated, but for today a tour and explanation. Follow me.”

He walked towards the arc, disappearing into the gateway as everyone began to file in. They walked into a  large library.

“This is our library, full of confiscated books and leads directly up to the Ministry of Magic’s library should you need more common texts. You’ll be spending a lot of time in here when we aren’t doing physical training.”

Hermione watched, looking for the sign of a librarian, but there was none. Perhaps the books were all spelled to return where they were meant to be, to never leave the library? 

“Now for the part you've all been waiting for I'm sure. I am Setesh and that is all you will address me by. I am not your mentor, your teacher, my job is to make sure you don't get yourself killed. Behind these door are the basics of training gear, go in and chose the vest that you feel most suits you. You will know if you are wrong...much like choosing a wand.”

Hermione followed the rest of the group in feeling him watch them all. Some people found theirs easily, some were shocked at first touch and forced to wander elsewhere  There was one that seemed to find his easily enough in rough boots, pants and loose robes, before sliding it on. For her it was not that simple. She searched, wandering around until she felt it. An unmistakable pull towards the back of the room, it feels a bit like being in Ollivander’s shop all over again as she found it, lifting it from where it hung and sliding it on. She felt it warm and fit to her body, vanishing beneath her clothes like a second skin.

When she arrived in front of the trainer, she swallowed as he looked her over.

“Athena,” he said almost wryly. “I hope you live up to that.”

Hermione looked filed out to fall into the group of people. To continue the tour, they went next to a room full of cubicles and long tables, clearly a work space and filed through to claim one for their own.

“The drawers will open for you when you reach the right one.”

Some people tried to just pull on all the drawer handles, some tried to feel their way around. Hermione didn’t seem to do either, careful to let her feet take her where she needed to go, drawn forward by a whisper.  _ Erset la tari... _ The Land of No Return.

She heard a click and turned to see the opened cabinet walking towards it to read the letters “Athena” engraved on the front of the cabinet. She set her things down and swallowed, opening the drawer and leaving her bag in the bottom drawer. She watched it close and the cabinets to the same before walking towards Setesh at the other side of the room.

The next room was something like an armory full of tables with artefacts and other objects, both Muggle and Wizarding strewn about.  The last seemed to just be an open field. 

“This is our training grounds,” Setesh said. “Don’t be fooled into thinking that this is just a field somewhere. It changes as we need it to.”

As if to prove a point, the ground shimmered and shook turning into a cement floor room that made Hermione think of an underground gym. 

“I’m sure you all have questions,” Setesh said. “You may ask them now.”

The great black owl from earlier swooped in from behind him and settled on his shoulder. 

The questions that came were standard. Why was it such a secret? What happened if they dropped out before the end of training? What would be expected of them, but someone finally asked the real question. 

“What happened to the teams before? During the war?”

“They were set up,” Setesh said. “By the British Ministry of Magic. They were killed for the most part, one survived and was sent to Azkaban for six months. I’m sure you all read the papers.”

“You’re saying that there are  _ magical creatures _ working for this section of the military?” Eyes cast around. 

“The Umbra only takes the best,” he said. “Pureblood, half-blood, muggle born, magical being… We only take the best. There is no glory for working in this sector. Our names don’t appear in papers, you can never tell a soul what you do. You will be tried at every turn to watch for betrayal within the World Ministries and from outside it…. This job may isolate your from your friends and family as they won’t understand why you’re gone, why you can’t tell them where you work beyond you  cover job. You will never be a celebrated hero, but you will be a hero just the same.”

Setesh looked across the group, seeing their faces and smirking, “Anything else before we close out for the day?”

“The papers said that the survivor was cleared of all charges,” a woman’s voice said. “After six months in Azkaban, but they never said how, why or where he went. Was it true?”

“Yes,” Setesh answered. “He was released and cleared of all charges and he isn’t dead.” 

“If he was the only remaining survivor,” the woman carried on. “He is heavily watched, isn’t he? Assuming that his memories were not erased.”

“Wizarding spells to erase memories work for the human brain, not so much for magical beings. Even if they’d tried to erase his memories, they wouldn’t be very successful. You could say that he will be watched for the rest of his life because of all the knowledge he possesses and has access to.”

“Is that what we have to look forward to if something like that should happen again?” Hermione asked.

“Not if you’re human,” he said politely. “You would be dead with the rest of your team.”

Hermione swallowed and met Setesh’s eyes, thinking for just a moment before resolving to listen on. 

“Should you chose to drop out, your vest will find its way back here from the moment you do. Your memories will be erased and you will report to your Ministry as an Auror the next day. You will have no recollection of this entire process and live your lives in the light. You can of course drop out at anytime. There will be three major tests: near the end of the month we will face off against the Aurors in a friendly duel of sorts. When we get to that point, you will be far more advanced than you are at the moment, no matter how many of you there are left. There will be Occlumency and Legilimency tests throughout, magical and physical tests, culminating into one test in which you will fight for your life. The final test is seemingly the most simple. You will have to answer one question and one question only: What is the password for the jump arcs? Are there any questions?”

No one seemed to speak and he nodded, “You’re dismissed for today.”

Hermione felt the world shift and realized that she was in the middle of the Ministry of Magic foyer with no true understanding of how she got there. She walked home, licking her lips and walking towards the exit, running over the day, over Setesh. She wasn’t sure what to think of it, but she knew that she had to go back. 

_ The Umbra only take the best _ , he’d said… It didn’t matter where you stood in the wizarding world.

For a part of the Ministry so shrouded in mystery, they were incredibly progressive.

*

Cyrus sat back once they’d left, reviewing their profiles and marking them with notes. There was a certain kind of whimsy sitting in his former boss’s seat, perusing profiles, designing the training program for the next month.  He stopped at Hermione’s profile thoughtfully. By all accounts, she would have been wasted as an Auror. They were too bound by tape and the level of secrecy she could keep with her Occlumency and Legilimency training was invaluable. He’d surprised himself in not going into a pseudo-rage at the sight of her being chosen by Athena’s vest. Perhaps his beast side knew something his being did not.

_ Animagus training _ , he thought. Perhaps he could get her into a full form. Depending on what her form was that could be indispensable. He looking at Viktor’s with a smirk. His codename had been a little too apt considering Viktor’s form. They’d thought he’d be a bird of some sort, he fact that he was not only mythical, but so very air-bound had been telling. Yet, it had fit him in some strange way now that he was older, a winged wolf. Luckily, Bulgaria didn’t require people to register their animagus forms and if they both passed the tests, Hermione’s citizenship would be non-existent outside of her public persona. All of her magic would be regulated to her secret life as a member of the Umbra so she wouldn’t have to register her form either. 

A few other profiles had caught his eyes as having the most potential, most he knew would be gone before they got anywhere really trying. He let out a breath and got up, heading out and onto the streets of London to apparate. 

The door was a large as he remembered. He could feel the presence inside and breathed as he knocked and watched the door open. Viktor’s eyes widened and he pulled him into a tight hug. 

“Cyrus,” he said softly pulling back. “Come in, come in! I was expecting you this weekend!”

Cyrus smirked at the always warm greeting, taking stock that Viktor was fresh from a shower, probably from training. Cyrus took a deep breath. He smelled  _ good _ , almost too good like warm vanilla and bourbon in the sunlight. His scent had matured over the years and Cyrus was still getting used to being able to smell it in such intoxicatingly high definition without looking at him like a piece of meat. Viktor had enough of that from his adoring fans, he didn’t need it from him too. They took up seats in the living room with tumblers of alcohol and food between them laughing, trading stories, and pretending that the question of those six months weren’t haunting them both. 

“Thank you,” Cyrus said looking at him. “For… everything.”

Viktor nodded, “You are my brother in arms. I would never abandon you… besides it’s not me you should thank.”

“Oh?” Cyrus asked. “Who then?”

“Miss Granger,” Viktor replied as Ivan came floating in with a letter attached to him.He smiled broadly as the owl set down the letter and hooted off towards his perch. 

“I’m glad that you still write to her,” Cyrus said. “She seemed to make you happy.”

Viktor eyed him for a moment, something telling him that Cyrus was lying about something. Hiding something maybe--

“You’re lying,” Viktor said. “About being glad.”

He groaned, “Curse you and your vampyr blood, stay out of my emotions, dear sir.”

Viktor snorted, “What is bothering you?”

“It isn’t Hermione,” Cyrus said. “It’s me… like I said, I’m a little bit more beast than being these days…. How is Nayden?”

Viktor grinned, “I will allow you to change the subject this time.”

Cyrus sighed sitting back, thank the gods for small miracles… Yes, he’d come a few days early in the hopes of acclimating himself to being around Viktor again, but it seemed like he didn’t need it. They fell into easy conversation, easy companionship… comfortable together. 

“They will be happy to see you,” Viktor said, squeezing him tight. “As I am.”

Cyrus let his lips twitch and froze as Viktor pressed a kiss to his head and held him tight. 

“I was terrified for a while,” Viktor said gently. “That perhaps you’d never come back.”

Cyrus swallowed.

“That perhaps there was something I had done?”

Cyrus pushed him off and set his hands on Viktor’s shoulders, “Look at me.”

It’s immediate, the way Viktor’s eyes snapped to his, the rush of red on his cheeks. He’s so--

“You have done nothing but be supportive,” Cyrus said carefully, holding his dark gaze. “I could not have asked for a better comrade than you, Viktor. I owe you and Hermione my life.”

He squeezed tightly, “I just… needed sometime to get my feet under me.”

Viktor shook his head, “It’s not everyday you learn you’re actually part dragon.”

He snorted, “No, I suppose not.”

He pulled away releasing him before standing. 

“I should get going, early day tomorrow and all that.”

“You could stay,” Viktor suggested.

Cyrus shook his head, “Best not. Some of us get up at normal hours.”

Viktor laughed and stood following him to the door to see him out, “You will still come?”

“Yes,” Cyrus said with a roll of his eyes. “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I posted this and realized that I didn't. Sorry~!


	3. I'm Not

Cyrus arrived to the Ministry, waltzing unnoticed through the halls and heading towards his floor. He stood at the back of the elevator, unseen and unheard until it finally arrived to the level that had been “assigned” to his department. He walked through the arc and into the equipment room to see how many vests had returned to their proper places. He almost laughed to see more than half of them back. It seemed as though his little speech had done well to scare them. 

He looked at his list and waved his hand over it to scratch the appropriate names out and rearrange them before rolling his shoulders and preparing to meet them on the appointed floor. He stood in the shadows, masking his presence as Nimue sat perched at the top of the room and they began to file in. Greeting one another, he was impressed with how many of them actually came in what he’d  mentally suggested them to come in: sports clothing. Even more impressed with who had come in dressed in sports clothing. 

Hermione Granger and Viktor Krum. It felt a little unfair that he knew who they were but they did not know him, but that was why he was running this training. When the last elevator came down he smiled and began to speak. 

“Welcome to your first day of training,” he said. “I’m glad to see you all are prepared for the most part.”

He went on addressing them explaining that today would be the beginning of the end and when they began there was a potential that there would be no going back. 

_ Erset La Tari… _ a voice said to her, just a whisper over her shoulder as she filed into the gate with the rest of hte group. 

He had them line up in neat files of twenty per line. 

“Today, I will be testing you all. Your greatest asset is everything you can do without your wand, silently, quickly… We’ll be starting physical combat training today.”

A gust carried across the cement room carrying all of their wands above them. Hermione tensed, eyes narrowed as their wands swirled together and filed into a bin. 

“I’ll select wands one by one and take an initial assessment of your martial skills,” Cyrus said and summoned a wand. 

“Hatter,” he said, the wizard stepped forward through the ranks as Cyrus let him take his wand from the air. 

“When you’re ready,” he said.

Hermione’s eyes narrowed watching them both and trying to look into their minds. From Cyrus, she only heard a scramble of words, low prowling words. She caught one of them,  _ Erset _ , from Hatter she heard spells, the order that he intended. Setesh turned his head, scanning them and looking at her, pressing back against her intrusion. Immediately, she threw up Lavender’s babble, the scent of nail polish, hair removal potions, and love potions. 

“You’re done.” Cyrus said, looking back to where Hatter had gone pale, his wand dropped from his hands as he was frozen. He waved a hand and released whatever the incantation was before telling him to fall back in and picking another wand for the next person to step up.

Cyrus decided about three people in to make a point. This one, from America, codenamed Sun, had all the arrogance of a high class wizard. Pureblood Cyrus bet. His beast hadn’t taken kindly to him in the slightest.

“Where’s your wand?”

“I don’t need it.” Cyrus said, peering into his mind. “But I suspect you won’t have yours for much longer. You are to defend your life, Sun at all costs.”

Sun narrowed his eyes as Cyrus took a step forward, deflecting and cancelling his spells with ease. Hermione swallowed thickly seeing the shielding charm he’d cast over himself. That wasn’t a low level spell he was working, apparently wandless, apparently effortless…

Who the hell was Setesh?

“What will you do without your wand?” Cyrus asked, stalking Sun across the room. 

“Wizards don’t fight without magic,” he said, panting as he flung spell after spell in the traditional American dueling style. “It’s horribly unrefined--”

It was so fast that Hermione almost missed it. Cyrus vanished and reappeared all of a foot away from Sun. His hand shot out and a sickening crack echoed through the room as Sun’s wand went flying. He flipped him over onto the ground and held him in a headlock. Sun struggled, pulling at his arm around his throat, trying to breathe. 

“I’m a dark wizard who prefers to break my victims to pieces and then strangle them,” Cyrus said softly. “I’ve taken your wand and snapped it. I’ve broken your wand arm. I’ve thrown you around with my own and now, I’m going to hold you here until you stop breathing.”

Sun’s eyes watered, as he reached up pulling at Cyrus’s arms, trying to dig his nails in. Cyrus ignored him and looked towards the rest of the group.

“You are not here to be refined,” Cyrus said steadily as Sun struggled. “You are not here because your opponent will be refined either. Some wizards employ physical means to kill, to subdue you because there’s no magical residue to trace… And so you’ll be dead.”

Sun’s face began to turn blue, his struggling growing weaker, his eyes rolling back. 

“Because you wanted to be  _ refined _ .”

He let Sun go, shoving him aside so the man could cough and struggle for breath. Cyrus looked at the group. 

“Let that be a lesson to you all that if you rely on your wand to save you, there will be someone waiting to take it from you and kill you with relative ease.”

Hermione swallowed. 

“Athena,” he called looking at her and she stepped out of file walking towards the dueling circle, taking her wand and setting her stance, glad that she was wearing tennis shoes and breathing slowly. 

“The rules are the same.”

She nodded, tossing out the first spell, the second and moving as soon as he vanished, apparating ten paces away to fire a spell at the spot that he’d appeared. Apparating again at five paces to fire again. And again and again until she felt the rip of a splinch along her wand arm and tumbled to the ground. She traded hands and flung out the spell. 

“Incarcerous!”

Cyrus let the ropes coil around his arm and regarded her. “Incendio!”

The ropes burst into fire and wrapped around him as he marched on her. Quick enough to get her wand from her hand and earn a solid punch to his chest. She cried out in pain, but he let her go, crumpled to the ground and effectively subdued. 

“Your non-verbal magic and apparition needs work. Points for strategy,” he said looking towards the group. “Hestia, patch her up.”

Hestia stepped from the group and helped Hermione towards the area as she cradled her arm. Hestia gave her a draught for the pain, then dropped dittany along her wound. Hermione grit her teeth against the pain and watched Cyrus call “Fenrir” from the group. Their duel had been far more physical ending with bout of quick blasts. Cyrus apparated to just behind him, arm around his neck with a knife in his hand. 

“You need to be faster on your feet,” Cyrus told him. “Odin, you’re next.”

So it went until he’d gone through everyone. It had been much of what he expected. They were all exhausted by the end of the initial tests which had been more than combat, but running after he’d changed the room to the free and clear field. Apparition practice across the field and basic combat skills before sending them on. 

In the morning, he’d found that half of the vests from the day before were back. At this rate, he’d be rid of most of them pretty soon. He was early so he left, calling Nimue to his shoulder and walking around the Ministry’s floor, ignoring the way people whispered. Most people didn’t trust him, even before the papers. He wore muggle athletic wear it looked like, Nimue perched on his shoulder almost too large to be so. To their eyes he carried no wand, and it didn’t help that they recognized him as a magical creature from all the newspapers.  No one knew what department he worked for, what he did and all attempts to find out had failed. They assumed he was just supposed to report for probation or something. 

The next day’s lessons were on defensive spellwork, full body protection charms, warding clothes, how to move. He’d planned to show them the armory on day fifteen, but once he was done tossing them around in the morning, he took them to the library and assigned the reading according to their weaknesses. Allowing them to group up and discuss, but telling them that the next day’s practice would be centered heavily around what they’d learned and been able to practice. He left up the stairs to his office then to watch them from beyond the one-way glass. 

He’s not surprised at all with who gravitates to one another, almost pleased at how good he was when they started practicing the charms and methods in the tomes. With any luck he would be able to build a strong enough team and keep his jealousy aside. He guessed perhaps it was because seeing them in person, even when they couldn’t recognize one another, was telling. They had a sort of rhythm, a physical synchronization that had nothing to do with their history and everything to do with their magics. His beast could respect that, it was the reason he and Viktor got along so well. 

At four-thirty, he tells them that time was up and takes them back to the cubicles to get their things and file them out. Hermione stopped to ask why he had to escort them through the arcs.

“You wouldn’t get through unless you knew the right passwords,” he replied. “I think it best not to have you separate yourself in three different places.”

Hermione licked her lips and nodded before filing out towards the exit, heading upstairs to change into more casual clothes. She was supposed to meet up with a friend from the library department and waited in the Atrium. The magic monument was no longer there but neither was the Fountain of Magical Brethren. Instead, there was a scrolling collection of posters about international cooperation news. 

LiAnn arrived just on time and they headed out to catch dinner. It feels almost normal, considering how much she was aching from training. Her entire body protesting sitting in the chair, but she didn’t feel it beyond a dull ache at the back of her mind, happy to chat with LiAnn who still worked for the ministry library.

“You look better,” LiAnn said. “Freer almost.”

Hermione grinned, “I think I am.”


	4. I Won't Be Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter!

She cried out as she rolled across the ground, skidding, panting and struggling to her feet, but her defenses are up, the mindless chatter of Lavender filling her mind and meaningless moments drifting just behind--her heart clearing of emotion. It’s so easy, so very  _ safe _ there, even as her body protests every move she makes. She moved to raise her wand arm, bloody and focusing on the shifting images of Cyrus in front of her. He kneeled and lifted her chin, his other hand coming to rest on the side of her head, slowly clearing the blurriness of her vision and disorientation.

“You’re done for now, Athena,” Cyrus said, turning his head. “Fenrir, help her to the medbay.”

Viktor walked over, careful of her injuries and lifted her gently off the ground, carrying her towards the cot, covered in healing spells that immediately set to work on dragging her down into unconscious. She twitched, fighting it as Fenrir lay a hand on her forehead. She seemed to relax enough for him to pull the blanket over her and turning back to face Cyrus. They were only half way through the training and already no more than a fourth of the original applicants remained. It made physical training easier, but injury was quickly becoming the normal state of affairs. 

The numbers had dropped extensively after Cyrus had begun teaching them how to block out pain. First with normal bruises and lesions, then more extreme forms. If Viktor hadn’t already been under the Cruciatus curse, he was sure that Cyrus’s hexes would have been the worst. 

To Cyrus’s expectation, Hermione had excelled at working through pain. He should have expected from an accomplished Occlumens. She’d been brilliant, the fastest to recover from physical pain and mental. With Viktor having mental defenses on level with Hermione, they would make great secret keepers without the spell. When Hermione wakes up, it’s to see the familiar guise of “Setesh” sitting beside her. They are alone as far as she can tell.

“How long have I been out?”

“Long enough,” he said. “I believe we should talk.”

She shifted a bit, throwing her legs over the edge of the bed and groaning at the stiffness of her muscles. 

“You are stuck,” he pointed out. 

Hermione huffed. 

“From your documents, you were a rather accomplished fighter during the war… Nonverbal magic was easy, you had even accomplished some wandless magic as well...What is it that’s blocking you?”

She let out a breath, “I… don’t know.”

He nodded sagely, “Perhaps… you should start by asking yourself why you are here.”

She put her hands together, “I don’t… want any student to have to do what I have done… There are somethings that children should never have to do.”

Cyrus nodded, “You believe this as a way to do that?”

“Politics certainly isn’t,” she said. “Legislation without change means nothing. Change is fought for on the frontlines, not behind a desk.”

“You could have been an Auror.”

She shook her head, “I’ve… had enough of the spotlight.”

Cyrus nodded, “Perhaps then your issue is not your external purpose, but your internal one.”

She looked at him as he stood.

“Athena is a goddess of peace and war, always balancing the two in equal measure,” he said. “Perhaps you should seek that balance. Your non-verbal magic and the strength of all your magic, seems to come from your internal purpose. Now that it isn’t protecting Harry Potter, you should find a new purpose.”

Hermione looked up, “You can see us all can’t you?”

“Of course I can,” he said.

She slid off the bed and stretched tall, “I… will think on it.”

“Enjoy your weekend, Athena.”

“You too, Setesh.”

She walked towards the arc gate into the cubicle area to gather her things and then through the exit on to the prescribed floor. Cyrus smirked nodding. He’d made the right choice with Hermione Granger. He checked his watch, shutting everything off and exiting the ministry to apparate to his flat. His clock rang to tell him that he would be meeting up with Viktor and other friends from Durmstrang for something like cutting loose for the weekend. It would be good for him, he knew… maybe too good.  

Hermione goes straight to her unplottable flat and slumps down beside her bathtub. Everything in her aching, but so peaceful against the cold tile. She spelled the tub to turn on hot water and watched the dance of ever filling bath salts and potions dive into the heated water, powerful jets included as she peeled herself out of her clothes and hauled herself into the tub, thankful that they at the very least got the weekend to recover.

She sighed and let the potions and magic relax and heal her while mulling over his words. She’d grown stronger in part because of the potions he’d given them to support building strength. She’d never been so hungry since drinking them, but she chocked it up to the extra muscle she had to deal with. It was different than when she’d been living as a muggle for a few months in Australia and had dedicated her free time to jogging with her mum. She smiled lightly remembering the way Monica would take baby Hermione with them in her jogging stroller and how far they’d go. It felt… so very much like before. 

She looked down at her body that she barely recognized. She’d gone up several bust sizes, several dress sizes too as her hips had filled out over the last year. The muscle she seemed to be putting on had added to that leaving her at a loss for what exactly she looked like any more. It seemed that everything about her down to her very  _ species _ was in question at the moment. Either way, she had to figure out why she was stuck. Had she truly lost her purpose? Or had she just never found one? What was she there for? 

*

Hermione had unfortunately not done the smartest thing for that weekend. She’d promised Ginny to come with her to a wizarding bar without asking, not once, who would be there, how long, or anything else. It hadn’t been her brightest moment, but Ginny had sounded so very sad in her letter, having not seen Hermione in more than a year that she couldn’t deny the woman, or herself, a bit of non-committal girl time.

So here she was holding up clothes to her body. She could have gone with a simple style, really she could have, but something was telling her no. The little whisper in the back of her mind telling her to do  _ more _ , that something was coming. She’d thought curling her hair would have done it, but the feeling hadn’t been appeased. She’d went shopping, but nothing had satisfied the niggling feeling, She was utterly horrified at what had done it. 

A dress she could only classify as scandalous, that had been hiding in the Nine Muses boxes inside the cupboard. It was less a dress and more like a two piece outfit. The skirt was body contouring with two long straps hanging from the front and a low rising back. The last part was a strapless, backless wizarding bra that was more or less just two cups attached together by a wide gold half hoop. She put on the red thong that had been in the box beside the larger one and held the cups to her body, feeling the charm engage as they molded and supported her bust, pressing the gold hoop against her skin. The two straps crossed in front, then curved around the sides of the bra to wrap around her neck and hook at the nape of her neck. The golden chandelier earrings that look like sparks attached to her ears gently. A gold and red clip slides into her hair as she draws the bulk of her tight and loose spirals to one side and over her shoulder. She stepped into the matching red peep-toe shoes and regarded herself in the mirror. 

_ So much skin,  _  she thought, but there was nothing in her that said she didn’t like it, no matter how she turned. Had her arse always stuck out that much? Her breasts had certainly gotten larger--and where had all that shimmer come from? She looked at the innocent seeming spray bottle that shifted a little on the vanity before giving herself a full once over. She’d been spritzed with perfume and oiled, the only thing left was her make-up, she supposed. The mascara and eyeshadow palette opened expectantly, applying only a few layers to make her eyes smoky and tinged with shimmering gold, her lips sinfully red… 

She looked…  _ sexy _ and it made her just nervous enough to rethink it all. 

Her alarm rang and she winced, she didn’t have a choice, so she grabbed her clutch, her trenchcoat, her wand and let whatever else felt the need to come with her fly into her clutch before walking out the door, noticing that a dainty slip of gold had twined around her ankle as she stepped outside. 

_ Sneaky,  _  she thought looking at the way it gleamed delicately around her ankle. She breathed and walked out of the building, down the street and towards the nearest fireplace that allowed for floo. 

“Merlin’s Wand,” she said dropping the powder and letting the green flames take her. The world spun until she landed, solid in the appointed fireplace outside the main room that had been silenced. She checked the time to find that she was on time and greeted the doorman who gave her an appreciative glance, then his eyes widened. 

“You…. you’re Hermione Granger…”

She smiled, unbuttoning her trenchcoat and handing it to him in exchange for a ticket, “I am. May I go in?”

He scrambled out of his chair to open the door for her and allow her in. As the door opened, she heard the pulse of music and glanced around before spotting Ginny at the bar, alone. Her fiery hair hadn’t calmed down at all, but seemed muted by the offsetting blue she wore. 

She wondered for a moment if Ginny would recognize her. A moment later, Harry appeared coming to her to press a kiss to her cheek. Hermione almost laughed at how cute they could be, still keeping up appearances, before steeling herself to walk up to them. What she doesn’t feel are the eyes watching her, the attention that she’s obviously drawing as he nears them. 

“Hello,” she greeted. Ginny looked up as did Harry. 

“Uhm... Hi,” Harry said looking at her, positively lost at who this woman could be. 

Ginny tilted her head, regarding her with suspicion and almost dismissal. She figured another groupie, someone who wanted an autograph maybe.

“Long time no see,” she said. 

“I’m sorry… have we met before?” Harry asked glancing at Ginny. “Ginny?”

“It hasn’t been that long has it Harry? Ginerva? Is it because I’m not carrying a book?”

His eyes widened and Ginny’s jaw dropped, “ _ Hermione? _ ”

She beamed, “Took you long enough.”

Ginny squealed, getting up from her seat to hug Hermione tightly and pull back to look at her fully. 

“Well.. no, it’s not the book, it’s the dress.. Which by the way where the hell did you get it? Is all this real? Where’d you get what’s underneath it?”

Hermione laughed and gave a perfunctory spin, “I was just a late bloomer.”

“And I’m queen of Britain,” Ginny said. Harry was still shocked.

“‘Mione...why… why are you so naked?!”

Hermione laughed and hugged him tightly even as he seemed unwilling to touch her.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous.”

“I don’t know how to feel about this,” Harry said. “It’s been almost a year and you show up like  _ this _ .”

Hermione shrugged as Ginny swatted his shoulder, “She can’t stay in the realm of bookworm more interested in books than boys forever. She’s a  _ woman  _  now.”

“Clearly.”

Hermione laughed and turned to the bartender, perusing the menu before asking for a French Firecracker from the man that seemed to be just as shocked as Harry. She smiled and handed over payment before he shook his head and told her it was on the house. 

“You’re _Hermione_ _Granger_ …”

She shook her head and put her coins in the tip jar, “Who pays for her drinks.”

She took a seat beside Ginny and answered the million questions she had, or at least as many as she could manage before Ron appeared, dressed as if he meant to make an impression. 

“Is she here yet?” he asked looking around nervously. 

Ginny smirked and gestured to Hermione, “One Hermione Granger.”

He turned and did a double-take looking at Hermione sitting at the bar, legs crossed, back straight and regarding him over the top of her glass. There was just… so much  _ skin _ exposed that he wasn’t sure what was going on. 

“Ron? Stop staring,” Ginny urged. “Creep.”

He flushed and glared at Ginny before Hermione stood to give him hug in greeting. 

“Good to see you, Ron.”

He stammered as she finished her drink and slid the glass across the bar. Ron took the seat on the other side of Ginny.

“What have you been doing all this time?” GInny asked. “Are you back in Britain for good?”

Hermione shrugged, “I’m not sure. I’m in the middle of training. We’ll see how I do.”

“You’ll do fine, I’m sure,” Ginny said. “You’re Hermione Granger, for goodness sakes. On a related note, where are you staying?”

“A flat I inherited. Unplottable, unmappable, you know.”

Harry nodded, “How’d you come across that?”

“It was given to me,” she said. 

“Sweetheart?” Ginny nudged. 

“Grandmother,” she said shaking her head. “And how have you all been?”

It had been about what she’d expected. Ginny had joined the Violet Veelas as a Beater and was doing quite well for herself. Harry and Ron still played for the Chudley Canons and they were all beloved by their respective teams. Sometime after Ron had begun to ask where  _ exactly _ she’d been all year, what had sparked this new look, she heard the cry of pain and whipped around her wand drawn towards the body on the ground, clutching his burning hand. 

“Remember that the next time it crosses your mind to touch a lady without her permission.”

Hermione turned further to see the owner of the voice that seemed to caress her senses and rest like a warm hand at the small of her back, a gentle flare in the letters that told her he wasn’t from England, glaring down at the man on the ground, “Go on then.”

The man scrambled away and that gave Hermione plenty of time to look at her apparent savior. Hair as dark as onyx in soft, shiny waves. His face shadowed a bit with the sexiest five o’clock shadow she’d ever had the pleasure of seeing up close. His features and his skin tone spoke of the desert though he had no distinguishable accent, just a little linguistic flare on some of his syllables. He turned to look at her making her and Ginny gasp at the brightness of his eyes. Amber gold, jade, intelligent and  _ powerful  _ in a way that she can’t place. 

“Thank you,” she said as he bowed slightly. 

“I was only doing what was right,” he said. “You didn’t get dressed up to be pawed at.”

She let out a small laugh, “No I didn’t, though you are a rare man to think so.”

He shook his head, “Rare I am, but not a rare man. Only boys touch without permission.”

She offered him her hand, “I’m Hermione.”

His eyes smiled and a slow predatory smile carved its way on to his face as he took her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of fingers. A flash of warmth tingling between them that made his stomach jolt and his eyes leap to her face. She felt like Viktor did, warm, familiar--kindred spirits if you will… 

“An honor to meet you in person, Hermione. Cyrus.”

Her eyes widened, “I… I thought you looked familiar.”

“Here I was hoping that I’d eaten enough to not look anything like those horrible pictures.”

Hermione coughed out a laugh. He had a rather dark humor, self-deprecating, but so very honest. He’d changed from the pictures but not in the gaunt to healthy way, just healthier. His skin was darker, had a bit more fire beneath it, but his eyes, his expressions hadn’t changed. 

“It was your eyes actually,” she said.

He slid between her and the gentleman sitting beside her as Ginny smirked and nudged her. 

“No introductions for us?” Ginny asked. 

“Cyrus, this is Ginny, Harry, and Ron. This is Cyrus.”

He smiled brilliantly, his voice smooth and rich as he greeted them and she watched Ginny flush as he spoke, even Harry seemed to be a little entranced. 

“So many celebrities in one place, may I ask what the occasion is?” Cyrus asked regarding Hermione. 

“Catching up,” Hermione said swallowing and finishing her drink. “A year apart, you know? Just back in the city. You?”

“Waiting for comrades… much of the same,” Cyrus said easily and she smiled at his terminology. “A reunion.”

Viktor spoke of comrades, not friends often. She thought at first it was a culture thing, but then she realized that it was just Viktor. He didn’t have friends, he had comrades that would follow him into battle. 

“Forgive me if I seem forward,” Cyrus said. “But it would be a shame to waste such an outfit at the bar fending off boys…”

“I’m sorry?” Hermione asked, trying to not stutter as his eyes followed the curves of her slowly, taking her in fully from the strength of her legs, to the strength of her shoulders, ending at her face and meeting her eyes. 

“That dress was made to dance,” he said offering her his hand. “And if I’m lucky, you’ll allow me to dance with you.”

She stammered then even as Ginny nudged her, “I-I don’t really--”

“She’d love to,” Ginny said. 

“Ginny,” she hissed. 

“You heard the man, that dress was made to  _ dance _ didn’t you say you were trying out new things? Dancing with handsome men isn’t really new but, clubbing is. Go on.”

Cyrus smiled, “No pressure.”

“None,” Ginny assured nudging her a little harder until Hermione got up and took his hand. “Go be  _ womanly _ .”

Hermione glared at her promising to get her back for this, but Ginny always had a way of flustering her as she mouthed, “ _ You know what they say about dancing. _ ”

Ron opened his mouth and Ginny raised a hand, “Don’t even, Ron. You have no say in this, just shut up and drink.”

He huffed and grabbed his drink, “She can’t like that sort of thing.”

Harry shook his head, looking into his drink, “This Hermione isn’t the one we went to school with… not even sure the one we went to school is the real one.”

Ginny lost them in the crowd even as Ron seemed to get jittery and move so he could find them. 

“I’m… not really much of a dancer,” Hermione said as he pulled her closer the slow, pulsing music filling her ears. 

He leaned down to speak softly in her ear. She knew that they were in the middle of a club, music pulsing, plenty of noise that she more felt the beat in her chest than heard it, yet she heard him perfectly, for a few moments he was the only source of sound in the universe.

“Just relax, trust me.”

She swallowed, the question was really if she trusted herself. His warm, almost feverish hands on her waist, pulling her close and guiding her to follow him. It isn’t scandalous, but the way he looked at her, the way she feels moving her hips in time with his, so close that she could smell a rich musk and sandalwood maybe, it feels like a prowling sensuality that would surely capture her more effective than any spell, seduce her out of her own mind. 

She felt it tugging on something in her, getting stronger as the music got slower, the beat more demanding. He was a gentleman, following her cues even as she felt so high on endorphins that her eyes rolled, fluttering closed. The scent of him enrapturing her making it so much easier to be a little more free in her movements, a little more scandalous until all she can hear is his panting in her ear and her own harsh breathing that sounds like sex. 

Ginny isn’t sure what to do as Harry has turned away refusing to watch someone he viewed as a sister (ish) have something like sex on the dance floor. 

“What is she doing?” Ron asked, gawking. 

“Her dress justice,” Ginny replied.

Cyrus dipped his head to brush his lips to her bare shoulder, up her neck towards her ear and she should have been scandalized, but it just  _ felt good _ . Too good to step away from, heady like she was flying. She drew her eyes open slowly, coming back into herself as she heard his voice. 

“My comrades are here,” Cyrus said. “We’re in a room upstairs if you’d like to grab you friends and join us.”

She nodded a little dazed. He held her by her hips and guided her out of the crowd to where Ginny, Harry and Ron were. Ron seething and Harry trying not to think about anything.

“You are welcome to join us,” Cyrus said with a smile. Ron was going to say something particularly biting, but Ginny hopped up. 

“Sounds great! How often do we get invited to a private club party?”

“I would think often,” Cyrus said. “Saviors of the wizarding world…”

Ginny rolled her eyes, taking Harry’s arm, “He gets invited to fancy banquets, Quidditch matches and things of that boring nature.”

Cyrus smiled, his arm twined with Hermione, “My comrades are anything but boring. They don’t always speak English, but it will be fun.”

Ginny looked at Harry as Cyrus led them towards the private stairs and down the dimly lit corridor to open the door. The sound of cheering and laughter spilled out. 

“Cyrus! Where have you been?!” They heard. 

“Seducing,” another voice that seemed rather familiar. “What poor woman have you bewitched on the dancefloor?”

Cyrus grinned as they stepped into full view and her eyes widened at the group. Petya, Aleksandr, Antonio, and other faces she recognized from Durmstrang along with a few other faces she didn’t quite know by name, but recognized.

“Sestra!”

She didn’t get a word out before they’d rushed at her, pulling her into hugs and spinning her around before realizing that there was no back to her dress and making her spin around, speaking so fast that her rudimentary Greek, Romanian, Bulgarian, and Russian, no matter how much she’d tried to keep up with it, couldn’t keep up. The gist of it was that they were excited to see her, happy to see her, shocked at how she was dressed, impressed at how she grew, and…

“Viktor?” Hermione said, trying to catch the last bit. “What about Viktor?”

Petya grinned and looked over at Cyrus who looked exceptionally pleased with himself, grabbing a drink from the bar and prompting Ginny, Harry, and Ron to do the same. 

“He’ll be here soon,” Antonio said in English, looking at her appreciatively. “What a surprise.”

Another cheer went up and she caught his name. The sound of his voice, warmer, deeper maybe and lighter than it had been at the World Cup. He walked to the bar with the group that had met him at the door before they directed his attention to where Hermione was standing with Aleksandr, Petya, Antonio, and Cyrus who grinned at him across the room. 

“Hermione,” he said and she turned smiling and seeing him fully, her breath catching at him. It feels a bit like Bill and Fleur’s wedding except she wasn’t hiding in the properness of dress robes. This dress was for muggle clubbing, not wizarding niceties. His hair had grown out a little, his facial hair as trimmed as before.

She worried her lips and Viktor almost fell to his knees at the way his blood seemed to rush south at the sight of her. She’d been beautiful in her school robes, in her dress robes, beautiful for her mind and heart but she’d grown up, filled out, and her dress had accentuated that fact--if it could be called a dress. 

“Zdraveite, Viktor,” she said politely. “Otdavna ne sme se vizhdali.” (Hello. Long time no see.)

He grinned and seemed to rush across the room, his awkwardness on land had worn off over the years as he stepped to embrace her, pulling her up and close against him, heedless, and maybe enjoying, the feel of her warm bare skin in his hands. 

“ _ Az vi lipsvashe tolkova mnogo, _ ” he said almost desperately (I have missed you so much)

She smiled and squeezed him back, breathing in the familiar scent of him, “I’ve missed you too.”

“You practice,” Viktor said. “Sound much better.”

She laughed, “A little. How have you been?”

Viktor hummed, “Is…. long story. You will be in London long?”

“As far as I can tell.”

“Me too,” he said and let out a breath, pulling back. “We will talk, yes? Catch up.”

Hermione nodded grinning at him, “Yeah… Maybe I’ll win another bag of galleons off you.”

Viktor threw his head back and laughed, “Ot Bog, woman, you have not changed.”

She shrugged, “I wouldn’t say that.”

He took a moment to look at her fully, “No… not all have not changed.”

She looked away from him and turned towards the rest of the group, “What possessed you all to have a reunion in London?”

“We were all here,” Cyrus said. “Getting those fools to come was simple.”

She could only imagine, but she listened to Petya’s latest story about a student who seemed hell bent on getting himself killed at the hands of his roommate. 

“They’ll learn,” Cyrus said with a shrug. “They don’t really hate each other.”

Petya groaned, “I just wish they would get to being comrades sooner rather than later.”

Hermione could only laugh, listening to their antics. Petya and Aleksandr had gone back to Durmstrang to teach. Antonio worked for the Greek Pantheon of Magic as an ambassador to Bulgaria. 

“My sisters thank you for that Swedish chocolate you send them,” Antonio said. “I can only imagine how you managed to get so much of it there.”

“I worked at a chocolate shop for a bit,” she shrugged. “Part of my wizarding hiatus.”

Viktor nodded remembering as he’d been on the receiving end of a lot of chocolate, most of which he’d handed off to his teammates and grandmother. 

“How is Nayden?” Hermione asked looking at Viktor who only grinned, beaming at her as he talked about his little brother who VIktor had adored from the first moment they met, determine to be a better big brother than his brothers had been to him. 

“He is best,” Viktor said. “Does not cry, does not fuss, likes me. Does not like other brothers.”

Hermione smirked, she had a feeling that had more to do with Viktor’s manner… He was rather harmless like a rabbit after all. 

“Is he big enough to try and eat your face yet?”

“No,” Viktor said with a grin. “But have feeling he sleeps much to rest up for challenge… or strategize, am not sure with him.”

She laughed, “It is a long way up.”

Viktor nodded sagely, “Was born healthy, day after my father’s birthday.”

“You should have seen him,” Antonio said. “After we’d waded through all gifts his family’s gifts. He still insists that Nayden was the best part.”

“Is one thing father and I agree on.”

Hermione nodded, she’d always wanted a little sibling and Hermione Wilkins was the closest she had. Ginny and Harry came over to chat, shaking hands with a few of the Vratsa Vultures in attendance before eventually ducking out. Ron had left with them after realizing that he wasn’t going to be able to pry Hermione out of the circle of Durmstrang men on his own. It didn’t take long after that, somewhere near dawn for everyone else to begin clearing out leaving Cyrus, Viktor, Hermione, and few others left as the club closed. 

“Floo home,” Cyrus advised stretching and pressing a goodbye kiss to Hermione’s cheek. “An honor to meet you in person, Hermione. Until next time...perhaps I’ll find a way to thank you properly.”

She smiled and nodded waving him goodbye as he stepped forward and apparated. She looked at Viktor as he held her trenchcoat open for her to slip into. She smiled at his thoughtless chivalry as he tugged her hair from beneath it gently and offered her his arm to escort her out into the night. He’s mindful of the height of her heels, mindful enough to slow his gait to accommodate her.

“You’re living together again?”

Viktor nodded walking down the street towards a cafe with her. Not yet, Cyrus was still wary about sharing living spaces with anyone yet. They stopped in, grabbed a table and hermione pointedly ignored the look the waiter gave her as she bat her eyelashes at Viktor and offered them the full menu. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know how worried you are.”

Viktor shook his head, “He… thought it best and I would not argue with him about it. Just glad to have him still talking.”

Hermione nodded with a sigh, “How’s he doing?”

“Better,” he said. “I am thinking it will take more time and yes, maybe he never fully heal, but he is better. He say he is more beast than being most of time, but I do not think so.”

“No?”

“Cyrus… Cyrus stronger than he thinks… Durmstrang strong. Dragon strong.”

Hermione smiled thanking the rather rude waiter for her cup of tea and tapping the edge of the cup to make sure there was nothing nasty in it. There was, a simple potion that would have some rathe embarrassing consequences. 

“She… put something in drink?”

Hermione tapped it again, cleansing the tea before adding honey and taking a sip, “All better.”

He cursed low, “Is rude. I say something.”

“No need,” Hermione said with a shrug. “Is it different than when you roomed together at Durmstrang?”

Viktor shook his head, “Is different because we have different rooms. He comes over more now, cooks more than I do. House Elves love him.”

Hermione smirked, “I have a feeling that they love you too.”

“Yes, but love him more. He’s more like them. I am thinking it makes it easier.”

Hermione smirked, “Yes, I suppose so. He’s coping okay?”

He hummed letting out a breath, “Soon go to work in Romanian Dragon Preserve some time. Joke that he should be careful or they tag him too.”

Hermione chuckled, “He has a rather dark humor doesn’t he?”

“Not humor, serious,” Viktor said. “He is… rare. Maybe only one left.”

Hermione swallowed looking into her cup. She’d looked herself and while there were hints across history that he wasn’t, it was hard see that when there was no known way of reaching them.

“But he also say would take lot of armies to do. Dragons like him more than others, very protective of him. Also, he is better duelist than I, so no worries.”

“But you worry for him, don’t you?’

“I am thinking he… not say many things that bother him. Does not speak about how it feels, Azkaban...about coma… or recovery. Just laugh, joke...I understand he is trying to be brave---but he is comrade, how can wounds be cared for when we hide them?”

Hermione reached out, placing a hand on his and squeezing slightly before looking at him. 

“He’ll get there,” she said. “There are a lot of things… that I should talk about and don’t… it takes a lot of time to face somethings.”

Viktor swallowed and took her hand, rubbing a thumb across the back of it slowly.

“I know… read in letters there are things you not say,” he said. “Me too.”

Hermione smiled, “It’s not that we have secrets, or skeletons, its what we do with them.”

“In closet I hope.”

She laughed, “Or in the ground if we’re lucky.”

Viktor grinned at her and the remained in a quiet  companionship as they finished their drinks. Tea for her, black coffee for him. It isn’t his Turkish preference, but it was better than tea. When they’re done, Viktor pays for their drinks and gets Hermione a brownie just because he remembered how much she loved them. The promise to figure out what they were hung between them, but they didn’t speak about it. They walked to the fireplace together and Viktor stepped in at her behest. Promising to make plans before vanishing in a rush of green flames. She stepped in and arrive at the shop down the street from her flat, walking towards the building, up the stairs and into her flat. She stepped out of her shoes that walked after her towards her bedroom, peeled off her dress, cleaned the make-up from her face, the glitter from her hair and body before falling into bed. The blankets warm immediately and she can’t help but smile. That hadn’t been the way she imagined the night going, but it was rather refreshing. 

She just hoped that she would be around when Nayden finally made his move to eat Viktor’s face. 

She smiled l at the thought, the obsidian eyes looking at her, that intense gaze hadn’t lessened at all over the years. There’s a focus, an intense attention to detail. Cyrus’s eyes seemed to burn rather, taking in everything she was and could be, backed by power, ancient and seductive, that she couldn’t really place. She wondered for a moment what her gaze felt like to people?

Cold? Calculating? Assessing? Clinical?

Like nothing perhaps?

*

She is tired, so tired it’s a miracle that she’s managing to walk. She’d rested up over the rest of the weekend only to return and be hit full force with training, tossed around, beaten down, but she’d gotten up. 

Accomplished.

Powerful.

_ Tired. _

As she's leaving, she hears the voice calling her and turned. 

“‘Mione?”

She turned looking at Ron and Harry standing there in their official wizarding robes. Harry grinning at her while Ron seemed a tad wary. Gone was that look of confusion from Harry’s face. He recognized her now, perhaps because she was the same as she’d been to his eyes. She really didn’t know. Maybe he’d begun to understand her since they’d seen each other the past weekend… maybe he talked to Ginny.

Either way, she found that she didn’t care.

“Hello boys,” she greeted. “Don't you look spiffy?”

“What are you doing here? Back at the Library?” Ron asked, almost hopefully.

Harry remained quiet.

“Something like that...I've got to go though. We'll catch up some other time, yeah?”

“Yeah…”

Harry stepped forward pulling her into a tight hug, “Don't forget us, yeah? If you vanish for another year, at least tell us where?”

She laughed, “How could I?That defeats the purpose of disappearing, Harry.”

He squeezed her meaningfully, “ _ Please? _ ”

She licked her lips and smiled, squeezing him back, a placed a hand in his hair, “Okay.”

Harry swallowed and nodded enjoying the small moment before letting her go. She shook her head as he wiped his eyes. 

“I’m holding you to that.”

“I’d expect nothing less. Enjoy your day, boys.”

“Come see us play, yeah?” Harry asked. “Alot has changed in the world of Quidditch.”

She nodded.

“Come to the Burrow?” Harry said as she headed away. “I know everyone would like to see you.”

Hermione smiled wryly, “I’m not going to disappear, Harry. I promise, besides I’m pretty sure I’m not exactly welcome at the Burrow. I’ll come visit, unless you’ve changed the wards?”

“Not since last time,” Harry said. “I’ll be looking out for you.”

Hermione nodded and bade them goodbye, shuffling towards the fireplace and heading back towards her flat. She could have apparated, really, but she forced herself to walk. It was dangerous to apparate when she was tired. Somehow, she made it up the stairs and fell across the couch, exhausted. To think, the next day was flight training. 

When she arrived the next day and walked into their training grounds with the rest of them, Setesh summons brooms for each of them, divides them into teams and tells them that they’d be dueling on brooms today, working on their evasion tactics, fighting between one another while racing around. 

She and Fenrir are the first to knock someone off their brooms even as the randomized hexes begin to take affect and jerk him around. Setesh watched them, firing random spells for them to avoid, to counter. Some people get blown off their broom. They start unit flying and defensive formations the next day and when the day is over it takes her a full hour to get her legs to work she’s so terrified. Hestia and Dracula are nice enough to cast calming spells over her and help her to their cubicles while Fenrir recaptures her broom and followed after them. It takes them a while to get her to calm down. Setesh watched them from a distance, allowing her gain her legs each time and walk out.  Part of him expects her to not come back, but faithfully she shows up. 

He knows that the final test won’t matter to her, it won’t be enough to push her, but perhaps… 

On day 24 for their 30 day training, they’re going through the last day of flight training. Hermione thinks that Setesh is trying to kill her on purpose, or perhaps it’s because she was clearly the weakest flyer that she was just an easier target. He seemed to be targeting the weakest flyer of each team. When she just isn’t fast enough to dodge so she lets go as her broom goes up in flames and she falls. Screaming, air rushing past her as she holds on to her wand, trying to focus, pointing at the ground, thinking the words as her panic rises. 

_ I’m going to die. _

_ Wing-- Levi--Mo--Eng-- _

I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die.

Setesh watched her falling, facing the ground, arm extended, trying to breathe around the panic, trying to cast spells but no words came around the screaming when Viktor dove in his classic way and snatched her out of the air, flipping them around and out of the path of Setesh’s attacks. He doesn’t let up, if anything he attacks harder, but it’s Viktor so he all but dances around the attacks, keeping Hermione between him and the broom, cradled in his arms and doing guiding them in crazy spirals around the obstacles before rejoining the rest of the team, hovering at the finish line. 

Hermione remained shaking, panting, blinking into space in his arms as he rubbed her back and held her, keeping the broom steady and lowering them to the ground. 

“Athena?” Hestia asked. “Athena?”

She remained silent until Fenrir set her on the ground, feet down and held her against him. 

“ _ Athena, _ ” he coaxed. “ _ Can you hear me? _ ”

Hermione blinked, trying to clear away the panic. Setesh watched waiting for the vest to come off, for her to disppear, but none of that happened. She just blinked into space for a few more moments before standing on her own feet and looking up at Fenrir. 

“Yes,” she said. “Thank you.”

Fenrir shook his head and pulled off his cloak to put around her as she shivered.

“It’s okay, you’re on the ground now.”

“I… I froze,” she said softly, confused with the sound of the words rolling off her tongue. “I… froze.”

“You fell pretty far,” Fenrir said. 

She shook her head, “Could have died… I froze.”

Fenrir looked at her as she turned, catching her breath and forcing herself to think and breathe, Setesh didn’t give her time, conjured up another broom and gave it to her. 

“That good, for the first round. Good to see some of you take your teams seriously.”

He raised his hand, holding his wand though they could not see it and murmured tossing up a ball of light that drew the clouds about them together, rain and the like. He grabbed his broom. 

“This time,” Setesh said. “Anyone who falls behind gets left behind, understand? You’re only as strong as your weakest link.”

Fenrir swallowed and Hermione took another breath, raising her head before walking unsteadily towards the starting line. Setesh was already hovering. Hermione returned the cloak to Fenrir and drew her own around her. 

“The objective is to catch me, understand?” Setesh said. “On your mark.”

He hovered a little higher floating towards the storm and they mounted. She gripped her broomstick and took another breath. What was she here for? She could have left this behind, but why was she here? 

Why was she here? There was no Harry, no Ron… no Viktor in this world. Just her… was this really where she wanted to be? Clinging to a stick for her life?

“Go!” She felt herself kick off with the rest of them Setesh fended them off rather easily, blocking their hexes and curses, losing them in the storm. 

The current hit her, sweeping her out of the formation and into a system. She held on as she couldn’t see anything in front of her face, lighting twisted and she squinted, taking a deep breath. She heard someone screaming  on the way down but flew on, swallowing and trying to trust her broom, trying to see. 

Why was she letting herself do this? After the war she could have left the wizarding world completely, gone to be a muggle…

But then what? Hiding from a world that so desperately needed change? So very desperately needed her even when they didn’t want to admit? To cower in the safety of muggle ignorance when there was really danger lurking around every corner?

Lightning twisted, glancing off her shield, water pelted her face and in the distance she saw him. 

“Incarcerous!”

He swept the ropes aside with a glide of his hand and fired at her. 

“Come then, Athena,” he said firing at her. “You can do better than that.”

She huffed, dodging the blasts and screaming at the burning in her shoulder. 

He waited seeing what she would do. 

She sat up raising her wand and caught the next strike of lightning  by the tip of it.  Drawing back  to send it out like a whip towards him. It glanced past him , solidfying into a chain of purelight. Her eyes flashed in the twist of lightning as it wrapped around him and his broom, knotting tight and she pulled back, rocketing herself forward and through the illusion she’d caught to go careening into him standing on the ground, her broom crashing near them and laying still on the ground as they went down. Her wand pressed to his throat as he looked up at her and the storm vanished. 

He had to hand it to the girl, she was good. 

“Good,” he said, sounding pleased.

She shivered at the cold water soaking her clothes, the shock of sending herself flying through the air as the rest of the trainees came floating down to join them. 

“What… what happened?”

Hermione stood up and Setesh stood nodding, “Very good, Athena. Well done.”

She swallowed, shivering as he pulled off his cloak and settled it around her shoulders. 

“Consider your flight training over. Go home, get some rest. Tomorrow, we’ll be training with the Aurors… should be fun.”

They leave then, heading to get their things and walk out. It’s the first day that she doesn’t have to wait until she can feel her legs again. Cyrus waited all night for the sound of the vests returning, some came but Athena wasn’t among them, nor Dracula, or Fenrir, or Hestia, Odin… If he was right, it wouldn’t be the thirteen there had once been, but seven including himself at the end.   
*

She doesn’t remember sleeping so well, but when she arrives, Fenrir is the first to talk to her. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, a hand on her shoulder. 

She nodded, “Just fine, thanks Fenrir… that was some pretty fancy flying you did.”

He chuckled, “I have a lifetime of practice.”

Others appeared and if she wasn’t mistaken, they’d lost at least ten people. Setesh appeared, now in all black athletic clothing. Loose training pants, a fitted shirt and robe over them. He had copies of them for everyone and actual masks to wear. It would be the ten of them against the entire Auror core. 

“Don’t worry,” Setesh said as they got into the elevator. “You don’t have to go easy on them.”

That was a rather odd thing for him to say as they arrived on the Auror’s training floor. Kingsley was there with the rest of the core. 

“Setesh,” Kingsely greeted looking behind him. “That’s all?”

“Oh, they’re plenty, Kingsely.” Setesh said kindly. 

Kingsely huffed and turned to the core to explain the purpose of the exercise. The Aurors and this group had a training schedule such that 25 days into their training program they would face off against the Auror corps. How well they held up determined the next stage of their training. As she expected, they laughed when they were told that they’d be fighting five at a time. 

Setesh turned to the ten of them, “You get more points if you make them hurt. Odin, you’re first.”

He stepped up as Kingsley chose five Aurors at random and began to section them off. They draw their wands, surrounding  him as Kingsely announced that they were allow to start. Honestly, Setesh expects him to draw his wand first, but Odin only stepped out of the way of the blasts, deflecting them off one another so they hit each other and cast a knockback jinx at the one left.

Setesh nodded, Dracula gave him a high five, “Dracula.”

He stepped up facing the next five who seemed to realize that a firing squad might be easier. Dracula was from America, eventhough he wasn’t a high class pureblood, more like wanderer who was incredibly talented at dueling. 

He swallowed, cutting through their spells and sending them all flying with one blast.  Seemed like Dracula had been studying. Cyrus took note watching waiting and watching them all go. The first rounds were always the easiest. The Aurors underestimated them the first time around until they started to get serious. It isn’t until about three rounds in that they get it and Hermione gets serious. 

He guessed it was because Draco Malfoy and several other people she went to school with were there and she just didn’t trust herself with a wand…. Or maybe there was just something gratifying about taking them down the muggle way.  She doesn’t wait for them to be ready,  dodging around their hexes to grab the nearest and use him as a shield. She broke his arm and used it  to cast direct his spells at them. She only punched Draco in the face, knocking him out  before leveling someone else with a roundhouse kick and conjuring a shield with their wand, reflecting the last hex back at the last offender. 

Cyrus nodded, definitely more gratifying to kick them in the face than hex them it seemed. 

“Go Athena,” Dracula cheered giving her a high five. 

“Well… that seemed to be the last of them,” Setesh said and looked at Kingsely. “A pleasure as always Kingsley.”


	5. Nothing Equals Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the results are....

He panted leaning over her a little dazed by the activity, her scent, the rush of warmth and power whenever they touched. Athena was a fighter, quicker on her feet than he was, slyer, more agile, but she had yet to fully overcome his raw strength. 

But oh, had she tried. 

Was it terrible that she was just so luscious and fiery? She was a  fighter, just like he was and--

“Fenrir,” she panted, a hot gasp of air between them. 

He pulled back shaking his mind clear for a second. 

_ Vitya, get it together. _ He thought shaking his head. He needed to focus. They were training to be an elite group of warriors on behalf of the wizarding world. This wasn’t the time to be thinking about a co-worker in that way. 

_ What about Hermione? _

“Forgive me,” he said. “I didn’t--”

“No,” she said, “Me too.”

He chuckled at that a sat back, tilting his head back and breathing as it seemed that there was on chaos running around in his ears and hormones. 

_ Yes, Hermione, _ he thought. They had yet to truly hash out what they had now and a part of him said that it stood to reason that he was falling prey to his desires. He was only mortal after all.

“Probably not a good idea.” Athena said. 

He smiled, “No, probably not.”

She chuckled, “Perhaps after we survive the final test?”

“Perhaps.”

He slumped back breathing, “You almost had me.”

“Almost isn’t good enough.”

His lips twitched. No, he supposed it wasn’t. 

*

“You have made it here,” Setesh told them, standing before them. “Good job. Now all you have to do is survive.”

Viktor took a breath and looked at the rest of his team, all of them he’d worked with through the exercises and were on relatively good terms with. 

“Your mission is to avoid me and not get yourself killed. When I catch you, you are to guard your secret with your life. Alongside that, I will ask you a question and use any means by which to get the answer from you. Should you answer correctly without giving up your secret, you will have passed. Are there any questions?”

Silence passed and Setesh turned, vanishing  with a burst of sparks telling them that the test had begun. 

“Go!” Athena called and the group of them ran forward. Viktor headed up the back as they rushed into the woods looking to put as much distance between themselves and Setesh. 

There was something in the back of his mind telling him that while it was a good idea, it would do little good against the man that had been training them all this time. The ground shook and they changed directions just as Earth rushed up and threatened to tumble them over. In the distance, he heard someone screaming in pain. 

*

To Cyrus’s credit, he didn't use any of his extra abilities to track them. He didn't need to really. One by one he tested them, getting them to the edge of breaking and shoving them forward to confront their own weakness. Some fell, screaming their answers, spilling their secrets and disqualifying themselves. Some fought back and broke into hysterics. 

Perhaps they would never recover, perhaps the memory charm wouldn’t be enough to truly wipe their minds, but it was a risk they’d all agreed to take when they decided to show up for the exam today.

When he found Viktor, he made sure to be as vicious in his probing, in his torture and combat as he had for everyone else. Perhaps he’d been too ruthless as Viktor lay at his feet coughing up blood from his internal injuries, drawing magic sigils in the dirt to block Cyrus’s path. He grabbed Viktor by his hair and ground his heel into his hand as Viktor’s eyes fluttered on the edge of consciousness.

*

“Though you may lose your way in me, you can never escape me.” Setesh’s voice came through the haze of pain and protective memories he kept up. He couldn’t let him in, couldn’t let Setesh win. Wouldn’t--

Couldn’t--

Never again even if it broke his mind. He would rather have a fractured consciousness than ever let someone in enough to control him.

“I hold this world together. Your enemy wears me as his cloak and dagger. What am I?”

Viktor choked, hearing the time tick in his head. Was he the last person?

“ _ The dark,”  _ he wheezed and went limp. The darkness came swiftly, the pain ebbed away and all he could hear was the sound of the wind as he flew through time, space, and nothing. 

*

Cyrus lifted Viktor from the ground gently and apparated him to the portal to St. Mungo’s. Viktor’s mental defenses had been impenetrable, even when he’d slipped into unconsciousness. he ‘d expected as much given Viktor’s trauma and his heritage. 

With Viktor settled, there was only one left-- Hermione. As he figured, she was the last person to find. Having spent years on the run gave her an advantage that the others didn't have.

When he found her, she fought viciously, casting spells so dark that he was actually enjoying dueling her. It was a rare thing to encounter a wizard outside of the Umbra or Death Eaters with such knowledge, let alone the power to face him in a duel like this. 

The roar of battle, the joy and hellfire that came with such a deadly dance made his head spin. She fought to the last moment, broken arm, broken leg, bloody nose and all. When the time was up, she collapsed to the ground, panting, exhausted and muffling sounds of pain as she crawled her way through the dirt, dragging her mostly broken body behind. Her injury delay spell was wearing off unleashing the full brunt of the injuries he'd caused her, yet her mental defenses were still unbreakable without completely destroying her mind.

He would have to ask her about it if she made it through this last bit. It was unusual for someone to have such advanced defenses without training far beyond what was on her paperwork. She either hadn’t told the full truth or had gone through something that had very nearly destroyed her completely.

He slid a boot beneath her and kicked until she turned over onto her back, panting and wherzing up at him.

Her hair splayed everywhere a curly mess around her plain brown face. Blood sluiced out of her mouth and down her cheek as she looked up at him.

“What is the password to the jump arc between the training grounds and the Ministry?”

Her eyes moved to meet his, sliding slow in her skull and unfocused. Blood loss and pain was taking over physically and she was shutting down her mind to protect her secrets. 

_ Dragon strong, _ Cyrus thought as he crouched over her.

“ _ Erset La Tari…” _ she said and closed her eyes just after the timer for the exam went off.

He snorted and shook his head. Her brilliance would have been wasted with the Aurors and she had more than earned her place and her codename.

The resistance he’d felt in watching her don that mantle vanished. The woman who’d died in that dragon-scorched cave, that spirit who’d returned to speak on his behalf could rest in peace. 

Cyrus could even perhaps forgive himself this one thing.

He lifted her off the ground and apparated to the Umbra’s section of St. mungo’s. Everyone that passed was there, everyone else had been processed out and were held with the rest of the patients. There was nothing outwardly special about the section save for the staff that tended it. They were the best in the hospital and specialized in most healing methods.

He looked over his new team and felt a bittersweet nostalgia blooming. He'd been in the same shape as Viktor was now, in the bed that Odin occupied, awake and aware of how badly his former boss had beaten him. They'd all laughed about it later considering how nice the guy actually was and how much he apologized after the fact.n He chuckled and left the room, checked in with the lead Healer, and headed to Head Quarters for final assessments.

*

“Athena?”

She groaned, her eyes opening slowly to the light of a hospital room.

“Wha…?”

Odin lay across from her, still unconscious, but beside her was Fenrir, looking at her. 

“Fenrir?” She asked. 

“Where are we?”

“St. Mungo’s,” he said. “What do you remember?”

_ Pain _ , she thought honestly.  _ Running. _

“Setesh asked me something.”

He sat up with a low groan of pain, “He came in earlier.”

“And?”

“He didn’t say anything,” Fenrir said. “He just came in with the Healer is all.”

She relaxed into the comfort of the mattress with a sigh. 

“Well, since we remember codenames, I can only assume we didn’t spill the beans.”

He chuckled, rousing Odin from sleep, “I suppose.”

“I’m alive!” Odin cheered sitting up and then crying out in pain. She shook her head with a sigh. 

“Try not to make your injuries worse?”

* 

“‘Mione?!”

She winced at the tight hug Harry wrapped her in, still not completely healed even though she’d been allowed to move around. 

“Harry?” She asked and looked up at Ron. “Ron? What are you two doing here?”

“I’m your emergency contact,” Harry explained squeezing her to him. “You didn’t know that? What happened?”

Hermione chuckled and squeezed him back, “Right. Nothing too serious, just a training accident.”

He relaxed in her arms with relief. While Harry had decided against becoming an Auror, he knew that he still had a large target painted on his back, as did Hermione and Ron. She stroked his back wondering if he needed the comfort of seeing her alive more than him being worried about her. After all, she was the best with wand work of the three of them. 

“You’re sure? Training for what?”

Hermione chuckled, “Harry, I’m fine.”

His jaw trembled and he squeezed her tighter. 

Someone knocked on the door, drawing her gaze. There’s something in the man’s expression, on his face that tells her that it’s an illusion, a glamour. 

“Miss Granger,” he said, extending a package to her. “From the Ministry.”

“Thank you,” she said and took the package. She didn’t open it, only watching the man move around the room and hand out the other packages. Soon enough, the Healer returned to usher Ron and Harry out of the room and check on their injuries.

When she leaves the room, the packages light up  and levitate towards one another. They swirl and twist together to form the figure of Setesh, as dark and enigmatic as ever. He looked around the room. 

“If you can hear this message, it means that you have passed and you have joined the ranks of the Umbra. You will be discharged in three days. Take the West apparation point to headquarters and meet me in the office. Congratulations and welcome to hell.”

The pages ripped themselves to pieces and burst into wisps of smoke. While the message seemed far more grave than a congratulations should have, they smiled and looked around the room at one another.

“Guess I’ll know what you all look like in three days, yeah?” Odin asked.

Hermione laughed, her head tossed back, “Guess so!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the short update. It's been crazy and I really didn't think the test itself needed much expounding on. Feel free to comment if you feel the same or different. I'm always interested in suggestions!


	6. Turn To Stone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry... it's been a while. I have not forgotten about this story or any of my other ones. Some of them have chapters mostly done that I just haven't posted. (Don't even ask why. It's ridiculous.)

Hermione arrived at the Umbra headquarters and walked through the gate into the office. The feeling of walking through the gate was oddly familiar now, but she supposed that after walking through it several times a day for a while she’d become acclimated to it. Hestia and Nyx were there, but no one else had arrived yet. She greeted them both and put her bag in her desk. 

“I’m a little nervous,” Hestia said leaning on Hermione’s desk, “It’s kind of crazy to think that we’re basically meeting each other all over again.”

Hermione hummed, “Just promise not to freak out .”

Nyx laughed, “I’m sure we’ll try.”

Dracula, Fenrir, and Odin arrived moments later with muggle doughnuts and coffee. She would have been surprised, but Dracula had been gushing about doughnuts for weeks. She’d guessed that if Dracula was no muggle born, he was half or was a rare wizard to enjoy muggle culture so much. If she had to guess, Fenrir and Odin were full-blooded wizards or grew up completely in the wizarding world.

“This stuff is amazing!” Odin declared, “Why don’t we have things like this?”

“Well, the English don’t really have doughnuts like this…”

Hermione laughed and thanked him for the treat before grabbing a chocolate doughnut. They chatted about the last slew of spells they’d been studying before Setesh’s large black owl swept into the room and per usual. Setesh descended from the stairs with a predator’s grace that made her shiver. 

She had become acclimated to the gate, yet the sight of Setesh simply walking was enough to make a twist of fear and alert rush through her. The owl perched itself on the top of Hermione’s desk as he neared the group. Perhaps it was his codename. Setesh, Seti, Set, Setekh: so many names for the god of the desert, disorder, violence, and storms.

_ Foreigners, _ Hermione thought. Setesh with all of his names was the god of  _ otherness _ . As unsettling and necessary as it implied for without the other how could anyone define the self. His eyes swept across all of them and Hermione tilted her head. 

What was it about it that was truly unsettling her? Was she not an  _ other? _ Shouldn’t there be some sort of camaraderie that she felt for him? A closeness? An  _ ease _ at least? Cyrus was about as  _ other _ as it could get being technically a magical beast, or at least, half of one.

“It’s good to see you all,” Setesh said, his voice warm and pleased, “I trust St. Mungo’s took care of you all.”

Nyx shrugged, “As well as they could. Still a little banged up.”

Setesh nodded, “Today is pretty relatively simple considering the days ahead. Relish it for it will not last long. I’m going to release the cloaking spell on each of you, and we’ll go over the paperwork.”

Hermione licked her lips, nervous as he lifted his hand and waved it through the air. She cast her eyes around and chuckled. Some of the faces she remembered from the war. Others she didn’t, but they were all somehow exactly as she imagined.  

“Viktor Krum?!” Odin asked shocked, his eyes shining. “For the love of Merlin, can I have your autograph?”

Viktor flushed but agreed. Dracula, whose real name was Michael Kingston, stared at Hermione like some impossible thing, a flush across his cheeks. American, tall, handsome in his own right, he stammered. Hestia and Nyx’s eyes grew wide staring at her. 

She recognized Hestia, Valeria Carlson, from the war as someone a part of the resistance. She didn’t recognize Odin or Nyx, but it hardly mattered. Odin introduced himself as Cesar Porter and looked more South American than anything with dark eyes and wavy dark hair. Without the cloaking spell, she could hear just the slight accent of a Latin language on his tongue.

“Er… you’re Hermione Granger,” Nyx said staring at her dumbly. “I’m Gwenhwyfar Lambert.” 

Her near platinum blonde hair was almost translucent and her brilliant blue eyes were piercing. Hermione bet that she was from somewhere far more north than England. From her accent, she assumed Scandinavia.

She smiled, “That I am, and it’s nice to meet you.”

She gave them a smile that turned amused upon meeting Viktor’s gaze. Viktor smirked at her, and she laughed. It, at the least, made sense why she felt so familiar. With introductions done, they looked to their apparent boss. The glamor over the owl vanished as it also slid from Setesh’s face. 

Cyrus smiled at them; his gold-green eyes were just as enchanting as ever, and his lips lifted in a sensual smirk. 

“Cyrus?” Viktor asked. 

“Yep.”

“You--”

“Yep.”

“I would have never guessed,” Hermione said.

Cyrus shrugged, “You weren’t supposed to.”

“You’re the guy that was in Azkaban,” Cesar said, “I would have thought you wouldn’t have ever come back to work for any Ministry after what they did.”

Cyrus smirked, “Unfortunately, they happen to have something that I want.”

Cyrus sighed deeply and led them to the conference room to go over the paperwork and their covers. It wasn’t that the Umbra had the same workload as the Auror Corp. Instead, their missions were usually few and far in between. They did a lot of preparations and led more complicated missions. That being said, each operative would need to continue living their lives as themselves outside of the time that they spent on the missions. 

People who already had an occupation and were actually looking to change careers were set so long as they didn’t work for their respective ministries. None of them could hold ministry jobs as the cloaking spell was still extended over them so long as they were in the building. They wouldn’t ever be recognized while in a Ministry building, they would barely be noticed honestly. 

“Think on it,” Cyrus said. “Make sure it’s appropriate to your social presence.”

Ceasar snorted, “Right. What would be appropriate for a savior of the wizarding world?”

Hermione shrugged, “I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

At the very least, going back to work at the library wasn’t an option. 

Perhaps… she could take some old dreams off the backburner.

  
  


The answer, or at least a possible answer, came easier than she expected on the morning of her birthday. Lying on her table was a letter from the British Ministry regarding the British Marriage Law and the talk about a “Muggle-Born Registry”. She snorted. She couldn’t have made that up if she tried, yet somehow it was exactly what she expected it to be. While she wasn’t entirely supportive of Kingsley’s original platform of attempting to fix the wrongs by hunting the death eaters, she definitely wasn’t in favor of the new Ministry’s goal to somehow undo centuries of prejudice and resentment by forcing purebloods to marry half-bloods and muggle-borns. She wondered what pureblood convinced him that a bidding system would be the best method of doing it.

_ As you are such an important figure in wizarding Britain, we’ve allowed bidding to start early on your behalf. _

She snorted, “ _ Bidding. _ What the hell am I?”

The presumption that she was completely agreeable to this nonsense made her snarl at the page in anger before an idea came to mind. 

_ An occupation befitting of a savior, _ she thought. Perhaps they would give her an opportunity that she would have never conceived otherwise. 

“The world works in mysterious ways, does it not?” she asked herself as a familiar owl hooted at her window and she let it in. It dropped a letter on the table and flew off. She opened it and could only shake her head. 

_ What the hell was wrong with people?  _

What the hell was wrong with Molly that she felt that this letter was appropriate. Weasley’s petitioning for her instead of fighting the law wasn’t a relief--it was a disappointment. There are a slew of letters that appear by owl at her public wizarding mailbox by the end of the day. It seemed that every major wizarding pureblood family in Britain had sent a letter to inform her that they were bidding on her as well.

They aren’t surprising. 

The McLaggens, the Malfoys, the Longbottoms even. The letter from Neville apologizing for his family and telling her to ignore it as he would do his best to deal with the issue was warming. 

It isn’t until there’s a crest that she’s never seen before that she’s intrigued. 

_ Dear Ms. Granger, _

She read on and felt her eyes widen. Her head tilted back with laughter and she folded up the letter, tucking it together and slipped into an envelope to send to Viktor with a note. 

_ Laugh before your rage shows up. This is hilarious. _

  
  
  


Hermione stayed behind the next day, rubbing her thigh to work out the stretch of tension there. Viktor had apologized profusely, cursing his family, and promising to set them straight. She only took his hand and asked if she could come over for dinner that weekend before sending him on his way with a hug.

“I said laugh Viktor, not rage.”

“Is not funny,” he said. “You are not property.”

He kissed her cheek and headed off leaving her in the office with Cyrus. 

“I’m beginning to wonder if I should have sent it to him,” she said out loud.

Cyrus walked up behind her with a laugh, “He would have found out somehow and it's best not to let him find out the hard way.”

Hermione hummed, still working in the knot in her thigh. Cyrus drew up a chair to sit beside her.

“Tense?”

“Probably not,” she said. “I think it's psychosomatic.”

“Well, I've heard I have magic hands. Care for some help?”

Hermione seemed to hesitate but not nodded. Cyrus slid closer and place a hand on her covered thigh, kneading slowly starting at her knee.

“Were you injured before?”

“That obvious?”

It didn't feel like she had, judging from the tension in her leg, but she was certainly reacting as if she had. He let his own magic, at least that's what he was calling it these days, sinking into her leg and prod at the tension. There was no semblance of a prior break in the bone or in the muscle, but the tension was obvious.

Stress, he thought. Feeling more than just this source of tension, but a spirit deep exhaustion alongside it. He took a deep breath, taking in her scent. Beyond the fire and heat of her skin and the richness of the oils she used for her hair, she smelled exhausted. She hadn't slept in weeks.

“You're exhausted, but you hide it well.”

Her eyes widened and she smiled, “How very observant.”

Cyrus laughed, “You're as tactful as I imagined you to be. Yes, it does seem to be a dragon thing. You need a good massage and a good night’s sleep.”

Hermione laughed, “Not sure if I can trust anyone enough to get a massage.”

“Viktor?”

Hermione’s eyebrow hitched up and her eyes searched him. For once, he got the sense that he wasn't the only  _ beast _ in the room. Her nostrils flared slightly and her eyes flickered with a dark light.

Cyrus smiled, finally pining what that  _ other _ scent was beneath the jasmine and why she seemed so warm.

_ Wolf _ , he thought. A wolf with a dragon’s heart.

Well, that certainly wasn't on her forms.

“You were bitten,” Cyrus said. 

She regarded him, “Yes.”

“But you didn’t change,” Cyrus said.

Hermione’s brow furrowed, “I’m not so sure of that.”

Cyrus chuckled, “You have some of the symptoms, but if they were trying to turn you, they did a poor job of it.”

Hermione licked her lips, “How can you tell?”

Cyrus smirked, “Your scent… you have a bit of the scent of a wolf on you, but it’s more like Dragonfire than a wolf.”

Hermione grinned, “Well… they say a dragon heartstring wand wielder has a kindred spirit with a dragon.”

“And I don’t see them making wands with werewolves so…”

Hermione laughed, “Good point.”

Cyrus nodded and stood, “Go home, Hermione and get some rest.”

“I’ll try. How are you these days?”

Cyrus sighed, “Better. I’m beginning to think that it’s because of Viktor.”

Hermione nodded, “He has that effect on people.”

_ You have no idea, _ he thought. 


	7. Gone And It Happens

“Athena, now!”

She didn’t draw her wand nor did she speak. Instead, she turned and ran as explosions burst behind them, covering their escape as they rushed away from the gathering place. There were so many more of them than the intel had indicated, but they had planned for it. 

Or rather, Cyrus had planned for it and they had followed his lead without question. 

She’d never been so grateful that someone else had three backup plans for the first four. 

“Odin!”

A streak of light zipped across the room as they reached the opening of the cavern and the wizards that chased them flooded into the room. The Umbra team turned to face the other wizards as Cyrus projected a shield around them. Her heart thumped in her ears, a war drum marking the sound paws on the ground through her mind. 

Had her teeth gotten sharper? She clenched her jaw an felt something like an animal bloodlust rising. 

She would not die here.

She would kill them all. 

_ Me or them. _

“Dracula, on my mark.”

She felt someone grab her arm, and she reached for another’s wrist as Michael pulled the portkey out of his robes. The dark wizards lifted their wands and before Hermione realized it her hands were lifting. Her wand appeared in her hand, but she couldn’t remember drawing it.

“Avada--”

A bolt of light shot out of her wand knocking the wizard off his feet and away from them. 

“Sectum--”

Another bolt came from her wand. Viktor turned and cast a spell over her shoulder. Mayhem broke out around them as more and more wizards flooded the cave flinging curses and hexes at Cyrus’s shield that seemed impenetrable from the outside but allowed their hexes through.

“Avada--”

Lightning twisted through the room from the edge of Cyrus’s hand into a ring of fire. Another bolt struck the solid ceiling and disintegrated it above them. The night was dark above them and smelled of impending death. It smelled like the Forest of Dean and waking up not entirely sure if she was still alive, sane, or other.

“Now!”

The seven of them stepped back so they all touched the tambourine as Michael activated the portkey and were swept away as Hermione cast one last spell. When the world stopped spinning, they were falling through the air until the landed on the side of a mountain.

“What the absolute fuck?!” Michael yelled as he sat up and groaned against a sharp-looking rock, “What kind of safe spot is this?!”

Viktor wiped the blood from his mouth and took out his broom. Everyone followed suit and took to the skies. A few moments later, they were all in formation. If Hermione was right, they hadn’t spent more than a few seconds on the ground despite the aches and pains.

“I told you that your training would come in handy,” Cyrus said, “Is everyone okay?”

“Scared to death, but fine,” Gwenhwyfar yelled over the wind, “There were a lot more there than our information said. Thank Merlin and Morgana you’re so paranoid.”

“Yes,” Cyrus said and looked ahead, “We’ll fly two hours farther to the third safe point.”

“You think our information was compromised,” Hermione said.

“I know it was,” Cyrus said, “The new minister and international ministry are snakes, but he’s a predictable one.”

Hermione had gotten that feeling from Cyrus’s original case, but it made no sense to continue on that path. After all, Voldemort was gone. They should have just been cleaning up the leftover fanatics. Grindelwald was long since dead, killed by Voldemort. Instead, they were talking about marriage laws and extinction as a threat to force some sort of false unity.

What could they be thinking? What else could they know?

Something was bothering her at the back of her mind, a line in a poem, maybe a page from a book that she read just to keep calm. It would come back to her later, but for now, it just prodded the back of her mind like a warning siren from far away. She wondered if this was how members of the orders felt every day since Lily and James were killed. 

_ Something was coming. _

“But why?” Hermione asked. 

Cyrus smirked, “You think his precious platform is going to stay stable without the fear? It’s a dangerous game that he plays but a predictable one. To what end, I don’t know, but I’m sure it won’t take too long to find out.”

“Incoming!” Viktor yelled and pointed in the distance. 

Cyrus cast the shield along with Hestia. 

“Athena, Fenrir, Nyx you’re the vanguard.”

Viktor nodded. Hermione and Gwenhwyfar flew ahead. 

“They’re casting killing curses,” Cyrus cursed under his breath, “Athena, take point. Fenrir, back her up as a distraction.”

Viktor turned back uncertain, but he nodded and began to shift. Hermione’s eyes widened as his human countenance gave way to a more wolfish appearance. Bones shifted and grew until it grew wings. 

“You’re a larka?” Hermione asked, catching his broom and shrinking it to put away. Viktor turned and their eyes met before he flew forward. Hermione lifted her wand and began to cast a large enough enchantment to get the group of wizards out of the sky. 

Viktor roared, gnashing teeth and claws at them. Distracted, they had no chance to deflect Hermione’s storm that caught them up and sent them and their brooms plummeting to the ground. 

He circled back into formation, and Cyrus grinned, “Good. You alright to fly there?”

Viktor nodded.

“We’ll go five north and circle back.”

In the end, the small band that had shown up on their path were the only wizards to appear that night. They arrived at the backup safe point and collapsed. Cyrus stood as they landed and sprawled on the ground exhausted. 

“Oh god, just a minute.”

Viktor shifted back with a low and pained groan. Cyrus kneeled to check his pulse. 

“Still alive?”

“Tired,” Viktor said, “ _ Nyet. _ ”

Cyrus laughed.

“You did good,” Cyrus said and turned to them. “You all did. We’ll take a break for a while. Regain your strength before we head into town.”

“Town?”

Cyrus grinned and pulled out a notebook, “Always have a backup plan that even your employers don’t know about.”

They rest for an hour, but it isn’t enough for Hermione to shake the adrenaline in her blood. They changed clothes quickly and blend in with the muggles in the city before sitting down for a meal at a wizarding bar that feels a lot like the Three Broomsticks. 

“You’re… an animagus,” Michael said.

Viktor nodded, “Learned in school.”

“And just like that you became a million times cooler,” Michael said, “But… don’t you have to register?”

“Only the English and the Americans do things that way,” Cyrus said with a grin at Hermione, “Everyone else minds their own business.”

Hermione shrugged, “What can I say? The English don’t believe in your business, I guess it’s the one thing the Americans kept after that horrible tea party.”

*

If Hermione had known how right she was, she would have probably made every excuse possible not to come to the Minister of Magic’s office. As it stood, she arrived at the time they requested her and realized that it wasn’t just the British Minister, but ever Minister of Magic in attendance looking down at her from their seats above the ground floor. 

It was a power move, one to make her feel intimidated, but there was nothing intimidating about a bunch of politicians.

_ Sweet Merlin, _ she thought, what the hell did they want? 

“Miss Granger, we appreciate you for coming,” Minister Dartmouth said with a smile, “We know you’re a rather busy woman these days, so we’ll skip to the point.”

Hermione didn’t bother to sit in the offered chair as the other Ministers in the room cleared their throats. 

A woman with dark eyes and a darker complexion than her own met her gaze, “You have started serving with the Umbra, is that correct?”

_ Africa, _ Hermione thought. Perhaps the similarity in their skin tone and their features, made them think that she would be the best spokesperson. 

“It is.”

“Under the command of Cyrus Rasun,” she continued, “We are charging you with the task of keeping an eye on him as we believe that he may be a threat to the magical community on the whole.”

“And what makes you think that?” Hermione asked wryly, “Or that I would agree to this?”

“You were involved with the appeal that resulted in his release from Azkaban.”

“And the revoking of charges that shouldn’t have been pressed in the first place, yes,” Hermione said.

“Then you know that he is not a wizard nor is his  _ wand _ a true wand.”

“Cyrus is what the wizarding world knows as a draconus mortis, though I’m more interested in what they call themselves,” Hermione said, “I know what’s been published about his people and nothing more. What’s your point?”

“You understand too that they were known to align themselves with dark wizards.”

Hermione tilted her head and looked around the board, “If this was a real concern, why give him so much power? I don’t think I need to point out the obvious issue in that, do I?”

“Miss Granger, you would do well not to ask questions that do not pertain to the matter at hand.”

Hermione snorted, “The matter being that you want me to spy on my superior for you? Report back to you? What exactly are you expecting to happen?”

They remained silent, but they didn’t have to say it for her to know what their real interest in Cyrus was, at least on the surface. 

She smirked, “Wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with all the dragons going missing, would it?”

The woman in the gold headdress narrowed her eyes, “It seems that your fame and involvement with the war has gotten ahead of you. You would do well not to--”

Hermione looked at her with a smile, “Let’s say I have a healthy distrust for anyone who asks me to spy on someone who may be the difference between me living another day and being buried in an unmarked grave. Let alone people who waste my time. I hear extremely stressful situations take several years off your lifespan, and I’m pretty sure the War at large and my years at Hogwarts qualify.”

“Do you delight in talking about how much you think you have accomplished?” Dartmouth asked, “Or perhaps you think it reason enough to forget your place in the wizarding world?”

Hermione laughed at that, “I don’t talk about things I haven’t accomplished and have no intention to, I’m not a politician.”

He flushed at that and she shrugged, “And since you mention it, I think it’s a reminder of exactly where I stand in the wizarding world because even after all that I’ve done, you’re still only a few moments away from calling me a mudblood.”

HIs eyes bulged and Hermione scoffed, “I’m not stupid, so let’s make this quick. No, I’m not going to spy on Cyrus for whatever you’re trying to find out. Anything else you wanted since I’m here?”

Dartmouth's lips lifted into a smile that turned Hermione’s stomach. She’d thought he was a creepy bastard the first time she saw him and that feeling had only grown with every new announcement from his office.  

“Only one more thing, Miss Granger,” he said, “The matter of your marital status.”

She shook her head, “Uh huh?”

He pulled up a list, “There are quite a few pureblood families bidding on you: the Weasleys, Malfoys, even the Longbottoms.”

“And your point is?”

“Nothing has been decided as of yet, but the Ministry will be holding a press conference in a few days time which you are required to attend as a citizen of wizarding Britain.”

“Me personally?” She asked.

“You, Harry Potter, and Ron Weasley along with a few other key people including Draco Malfoy…”

She listened to the vague list and smirked, “And what is it that the Ministry hopes to gain from having me there?”

“You’ll be expected to inform the wizarding community of the benefits of such arrangements. Based on the research and the advisements of this bench, the program most greatly benefits people like you.”

“Like… me?” Hermione asked.

“Yes, Muggle-borns and half-bloods, by giving people like you more access to power, connections and so on, a true welcoming into the wizarding world. Why it’s unprecedented,” he smiled, “We would expect your full cooperation. I would think that as a Muggle-born of your experience you would relish the chance to abolish the negative connotations associated with your kind.”

_ By completely erasing it… or by ignoring it? _

“And if I don’t?” she asked.

_ Like Lily, _ she thought with a stunning realization. 

“Your wand will be snapped, and you will be prohibited from owning a wand or performing magic for the rest of your days in any of the countries under this agreement until you comply.”

Hermione hummed, “That’s a dangerous wager.”

“One well worth it,” he said, “The wizarding world in this new age needs cohesion. It has been a long struggle to this point of peace. The people need more of it. I’m sure you can agree with that.”

She nodded, “I do.”

“Good, we shall expect your full cooperation.”

“Of course,” she said with a bright smile, “Just one question.”

“And what is that?”

“How far will this be broadcasted?”

“Across every available radio across the wizarding community,” he said, “Across every nation.”

“Well,” she chuckled, “I suppose I should speak clearly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, thanks for coming back to read my shenanigans. I know it's been forever, but 2018 has literally been the hardest year it could have possibly been. I don't even think there's much that could top it except maybe...
> 
> Nah. I got nothing.
> 
> I will try to have this finished before the end of the year, but I can't make any promises since I haven't even scratched the surface of dealing with my own issues. Thanks for all the support, patience, and so on. Your comments and things were the highlights of a lot of dark days these past few months. Things will get better, and I say that not just for myself but for everyone who is going through a tough time.
> 
> Things will get better.
> 
> Best,
> 
> BLV13


	8. I'm Not What You Think

She decided to wear her most muggle looking outfit. It was fitting, and she was sure that it would hit all of Dartmouth and his insufferable lackeys’ buttons. If she was lucky, someone would call her a mudblood on live broadcast.

The dress was a simple sweetheart neckline, off the shoulders, cut just below the knees in a mock 60s’ style, and the perfect shade of royal blue. She remembered when she bought it as it reminded her of a dress she had owned as a child. Her grandmother had owned a dress like it in her youth. She still had the photo of her on her bookshelf in her flat. With a pair of classic pumps, a functional peacock-themed clip in her hair, a simple necklace, a coat of peacock green nail polish, and a fresh coat of tinted lip gloss on her lips she deemed herself ready to go.

_ Time to be an activist, _ she said as she selected the wand attached to the wand registry from the collection of wands in the box in her closet. She quite often didn’t carry her own wand, nor the wand registered to her. Today, she would need to make a statement though and there was no other wand more fitting for the job. It was a rather nice perk of being a part of the Umbra to have trained to use so many different wands. 

The wand theory that Cyrus taught them could have been dangerous in the hands of people who meant to use it for evil. Training her own magic to be so flexible with its channeling was the kind of experience shed hoped for when she joined but had never expected.

Dartmouth would regret this day long past his occupation of the Ministry of Magic.

When she arrived at the appointed place by Floo, it was Harry who rushed to her. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed.

“‘Mione,” he whispered, “They've lost their bloody minds.”

“I know,” she said and squeezed him back. She took his hands and met his green gaze, “Not the first time we've dealt with Ministry nonsense, I suspect it won't be the last.”

Harry nodded slowly and she locked her arm around his. She offered her other to Ron who looked shocked.

“Time to face the press,” she said.

He took her arm, and together, they walked in as if the months after the war had never happened. They found seats beside Draco so that Harry sat between the two of them. Draco wore what Hermione could only imagine was a very expensive suit cut more in a muggle style. She wondered for a moment if that was as much of a protest as he could muster and what Dartmouth had over him to make him comply. She smiled brightly into the flash of wizarding cameras as Minister Dartmouth took the podium and addressed the crowd.

Draco looked over to them, and she grinned at him before giving him a sassy wink. His pale cheeks flushed and he looked almost mortified from the other side of Harry.

“What was that, Granger?” 

“I heard your family put in a bid for me, I just thought I should let you know there are no hard feelings on my end.”

Draco scoffed, “You weren't meant to know that, and it wasn't my idea.”

“Yes, but you don't seem to be too against it either,” his eyes widened as did Harry's. She laughed, “Don't take it so seriously, Malfoy. I know I've grown up well.”

Draco turned away from her as she laughed and relaxed back into her seat. Harry gave her a quizzical look but ended up chuckling anyway. Dartmouth had pretty much romanced his way into the heart of the wizarding elite. The whole scheme of bidding on certain people in the pool was just another means of doing so and keep him in their good graces. They had no wish to die out, so they could at least agree to compromise, but they would never do so without having as much control over  _ how _ they compromised as possible. 

It was a shame that Dartmouth cared more about pleasing them and less about keeping the magical community together as a whole. What the hell did he expect half-bloods and Muggle-borns to think about the entire situation? Did he think that Muggle-borns, on the whole, were so lost without their wands after seven years or more being involved in the wizarding world?

Were they really so narrow-minded?

Sure, magic was a beautiful and wonderful thing, but Muggle-borns didn’t grow up in their formative years wishing to be the next Newt Scamander or earn an Order of Merlin. The trappings of the average Muggle-born’s childhood lay in the Muggle world, and all those Muggle dreams were still very attainable.

As for half-bloods like Harry, she could bet that Harry would have taken living with the Dursleys until he was eighteen over the amount of trauma that kept him up at night these days if he’d had a choice in the matter. He would have probably graduated from school, gotten a job, maybe gone on to University…

She would have been the greatest librarian in the world with a talent for figure skating if she hadn’t been levitating plates at the dinner table, but the most important part of it all was that she still could be those things with ease if she wanted.

If perhaps the wrongs of the past, the wrongs that made Grindelwald and Voldemort had never occurred, Harry would have probably always grown up a wizard under the Potter name. He would have grown up with Sirius and Remus, or he would have grown up under Snape’s name and had his inky, black hair. Lily would still be alive, and Severus probably wouldn’t have broken his own heart. 

There were so many things that rested firmly on the traditions and culture of the wizarding world that didn’t have to be. Her own grandmother probably would have married a wizard if squibs weren’t seen as practical scourges of the earth, and Hermione too would have simply been a different person. The whole wizarding community would have been different if they had just coexisted from the beginning.

_ If wizards hadn’t decided to hide from the Muggle world, there probably wouldn’t have ever been the term mudblood. _

“What did he promise you to be here?” Hermione asked Draco in a low tone, “Draco? Harry?”

“My father's freedom,” Draco said, “I told him I’d be here if, and only if, my father remained locked away forever.”

_ Smart, _ Hermione thought. She was almost proud of him being able to say that. She knew that quite a lot of Draco’s worse sides were the product of his father’s abuse. She smiled at him. 

“What?”

“You’ve come a long way.”

His cheeks flushed, and he turned his head as Harry smirked at him smugly.

“Harry?”

“Grimmauld Place,” Harry clenched his teeth, “Apparently, he has orders to magically dismantle and tear it down sitting on his desk for lack of compliance. The bastard.”

“He can't do that,” Draco said, his brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed, “You live there.”

“So long as he offers proper  _ compensation _ he can as a matter of eminent domain… Or tear it down as a threat to wizarding secrecy.”

Hermione nodded, she had figured as much, “You should contact the historical society since it is a traditionally Sacred Seven House. Ronald?”

“What?” He asked.

“What did he offer you?”

Ron flushed, and Hermione had a feeling that she didn't really want to know.

_ Talk about a lesson made a blessing, _ she thought wryly.

“And you?” Draco asked Hermione, “What could he possibly give you?”

“Oh, he just told me that my wand would be snapped if I didn't comply.”

She heard each of them gasp as Dartmouth’s speech changed tone. Hermione knew it was about time for him to play his perceived trump card. She wondered how giddy he’d been that morning thinking that he was going to display his dominance over all of the heroes of the wizarding world by forcing them to be there and forcing her to speak in favor of this law that she had the most to lose from. 

She imagined that he’d practically hopped out of bed, sung three songs in the shower, maybe played the air guitar on his way to breakfast. Maybe he’d gotten frisky with his favorite servant girl with vacant eyes in the Minister’s manor and gotten off so hard that he’d nearly choked her. Maybe, he’d even gotten handsy with his favorite serving boy on the way out the door. He seemed like that kind of asshole to have more than one favorite and treat them all horribly. 

He seemed like the sort to relish the idea of having power over people. 

_ It’s a shame I’m going to have to ruin your day, you smarmy git. _

“I know this will all be a bit much to swallow, but Miss Hermione Granger has graciously agreed to be here and ease the doubts of all as a voice of Muggle-borns in the wizarding world and a champion of what true unity can be. Miss Granger?”

She stood and brushed off her dress with a flick of magic at the broadcasting equipment. She watched the telltale spark and walked forward.

“What a lovely introduction, Minister,” she said and took the podium. She smiled and sent another flick of magic around the podium as soon as he sat down.

The broadcasting equipment wouldn't shut off until she was done with her speech no matter how they tried.

She looked out across the group of reporters and let them take their photos. A lot of them seemed horrified, scared, and in their eyes, there was something dying. She knew quite a few of them were either half-bloods or Muggle-born with children who would be affected by the law.

“Hello everyone listening and watching,” she said, “I would first like to say that I am not here as a voice of Muggle-borns, or survivors of the war, or even as a witch because none of that is who I am at heart. 

“My name is Hermione Granger, and I was born here in Britain with no knowledge of the wizarding world until a letter arrived from Hogwarts when I was eleven years old. I had no idea what world I would be entering, nor what it would cost me to be here today. The friends I have made, the triumphs I've had… the people I have lost: I would have never imagined what lay ahead then, but I stand here, what feels like decades later, a different person entirely. I stand here understanding what the price of the wizarding world is and how it expects it to be paid without question.

“It was a strange reminder of my Hogwarts letter when the letter from the Ministry arrived stating that I would be entering the Marriage Pool soon and my fate rested firmly in the hands of wizards I may have never met and would probably never know. Wizards who on any other day would sneer at me and everything I am and call me a mudblood.”

The crowd gasped and she carried on, “I say strange because I had the same feeling as then: my future was once again seized by the hands of a world, of a people, and a history I would never have known if they did not need me.”

She paused and turned to Minister Dartmouth and the rest of his cabinet with a smug smirk before turning back.

“I cannot speak for every Muggle-born, but I know that I realized that the wizarding world needed me the moment the letter showed up. Magic is its best-kept secret carefully hidden behind the world of muggles for their own privacy and ends…They needed to bring us in because not doing so would have risked their exposure. We are the next generation wizards, the future, and in order to sustain it in the way they want, we had to be brought in and groomed.

“They need us now because the wizarding world, the way of their preservation, is dying out, and they know that in just a few generations there will be more squibs than ever before and generations after that a whole new world of Muggle-born witches and wizards without letters from Hogwarts to receive if things continue the way they have been.

“That’s the reality no matter what has been said. They need us to help them carry on along with the tradition they cling to and drag it on into the future, but we are not chattel.”

“Miss Granger--” a forcefield went up around the podium, and she ignored him.

“We are not chattel. Not just muggle-borns, or half-bloods, but every witch and wizard of this generation who are being asked to pay the price of their past mistakes with our freedom. We have all paid the blood-price of way their way of doing things has done for us from Grindelwald down to Voldemort and long before then, and now they ask us all, as we are still healing wounds from a War just passed, to forsake ourselves as people and help carry on for their sake, and if not, we will be exiled from the wizarding world.

“Well, I say its too high a cost. I say the twenty sickle I paid for my wand, the perceived prestige, and the so-called new age isn't worth my freedom. I say I was quite happy with Muggle chocolates, phones, televisions, and buses. I say that there isn't a Muggle-born alive that doesn't remember how to use a dishwasher and doesn't still have the paperwork to re-enter the Muggle world. 

“I say there are plenty of jobs on the fringes of the wizarding world for people without wands and plenty more jobs in the Muggle world that pay just as well. I say I won't be forced to agree to this systematic self-loathing.”

She took out the wand in her pocket and snapped it clearly in two before 

“I say I've paid enough.”

The gasp that echoed through the gathering silenced the Minister and all other commotion as she set the pieces on the podium.

“This law is supposed to be hope and a symbol of progression. A symbolic sacrifice for the greater good of the wizarding world. I have sacrificed enough: my family, years of my life, my sanity, my sense of security, and I won’t bleed another drop for a world that considers me chattel after everything I’ve been through.

“A wand does not make me a witch, nor does it change who I am. My wand can be broken or whole. I could marry into a wizarding family or not. I could do a lot of things, but if we give in to this ludicrous scare tactic, we’ll only ever be mudbloods to them. 

“This mudblood is walking away content to let them die out scrambling for a sense of security and superiority, and if you see your value as someone, not something, join me. Given enough time, enough resistance, enough people unwilling to pay that price, they'll see. Their world will crumble, and it will be up to us, the ones who would not pay the price and believe that no one should, to shape the wizarding the world into something that is fair for all of us.

“I will not be broken by the same fear that threatened the world with a new face. I will not bend for someone who thinks nothing of me. Your life is worth more than a pile of galleons, and in our hands, we hold the elements of the world. Tell Dartmouth and all of the Ministers who think of you as chattel to sod off.”

She took down the barrier and walked around the podium to the end of the stage.

“Stop her!”

Hermione waved her hand and sent wizards flying and walked down the stairs. The reporters parted as she walked with her head held high. She apparated back to her home street and walked up the steps. 

As she entered her flat, she breathed a sigh of relief. She took off her shoes and wandered into her bedroom to lay across her bed with a laugh. 

She wondered how long it would take for the rest of the wizarding world to get the message. 

 

A few days later, she met Harry and Draco in a muggle coffee shop. 

“I suppose you were a Gryffindor for a reason…” Draco said over his coffee, “This is also quite good.”

“ _ What are you going to do? _ ” Harry asked, “Dartmouth is furious.”

She shrugged, “Of course, he is. I made a fool of him and the entire coalition of Ministries that stood with him for this nonsense.”

“Are you… going to go work in the Muggle world?”

Hermione chuckled, “I wouldn’t worry about that. That’s the beautiful thing about being Muggle-born in the Muggle world is that there is a whole world of other options there. There are dreams I had in the Muggle world that I might get to pursue now,” Harry hummed, “You’re right, but you broke your wand, and I broke the Elder Wand.”

Hermione shrugged, “I broke one of many of my wands.” 

Draco’s eyebrows jumped to his hairline, and he laughed loud enough to draw attention. 

“Bloody hell, Granger, you know how to play the game, don’t you?” Draco said, “You sure you don’t want to be an honorary Slytherin?”

She laughed, “I think I already am.”

“But you won’t be able to use it right?” Harry asked.

“I wouldn’t worry about that Harry,” Hermione said, “You’d be surprised what else I have up my sleeves.”

Harry sighed, “You’ll… basically be living like a squib now, won’t you?”

She shrugged, “There are more jobs on the edges of the wizarding world than you think, and muggle money spends just as well if I  _ really _ need some Butterbeer.”

Draco snorted, “I’ll ship you the best if you want it for that glorious display. I do believe you’ve let me have my cake and eat it too.”

“And you Harry?’

“Well,” Harry said, “His vow said nothing about me convincing you to do anything, and it’s already been done. Of course, they’ll probably interrogate me about it, but that’s all.”

Hermione shrugged, “Well, tell them to sod off too. I can’t even imagine who is  _ bidding _ on you, Harry.”

He chuckled at that, “Well… actually, I’m expected to be bidding on people.”

“Potters?”

“Yeah,” Harry said with a shake of his head, “It’s bloody ridiculous.”

Draco snorted and pulled out the latest wizarding newspaper, “You made quite the splash.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” she said, “I’m hoping to make even more. I’m sure some determined reporter will find me soon enough.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, thanks for coming back to read my shenanigans. I know it's been forever, but 2018 has literally been the hardest year it could have possibly been. I don't even think there's much that could top it except maybe...  
> Nah. I got nothing.
> 
> I will try to have this finished before the end of the year, but I can't make any promises since I haven't even scratched the surface of dealing with my own issues. Thanks for all the support, patience, and so on. Your comments and things were the highlights of a lot of dark days these past few months. Things will get better, and I say that not just for myself but for everyone who is going through a tough time.
> 
> Things will get better.
> 
> Best,
> 
> BLV13


End file.
